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DIALOGUES  AND  HLOCUTION. 


The  School  Stage. 

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ness.    Illustrated. 

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ard English  authors.  By  W.  H.  Venable.  For  Young 
People.  Full  and  lucid  descriptions  and  explanations. 
Illustrated. 

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Edited  by  W.  H.  Venable.  Twenty  Plays,  selected 
from  the  writings  of  standard  authors.  Adapted  to 
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classes  in  reading.  Illustrations  by  Faknv.  i2mo, 
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By  Robert  Kidd,  A.  M.      i2mo,  cloth,  480  pp. 

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ECLECIIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES. 


THE  STUDY  OF  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


:>J«« 


From  the  Preface  to  Tlialheimers  History  of  England. 


The  increasing  study  of  History  in  our  schools  is  doubtless  a 
hopeful  sign  for  the  future  of  the  Republic.  A  free  government 
depends  for  its  honor,  if  not  for  its  very  life,  upon  a  well  balanced 
national  character  ;  and  this  caii  hardly  cxibt  without  some  general 
knowledge  of  the  recorded  experience  of  mankind.  And,  surely, 
the  history  of  which  we  can  least  aflbrd  to  be  ignorant  is  that  of 
our  mother  country. 

That  branch  of  the  great  German  race  which  was  planted 
fourteen  centuries  ago  on  British  soil,  grew,  under  unexceptionally 
favoring  influences,  to  be  the  admiration  of  the  world.  The  his- 
tory of  the  long  series  of  popular  conquests,  nobly  won  and 
firmly  held, —  from  Magna  Charta  to  that  Bill  of  Rights  which 
was  the  prelude  to  our  own  Declaration  of  Independence — con- 
tains a  fund  of  political  wisdom  u  lili  li  no  nation,  and  ours  least 
of  all,  can  afford  to  neglect.     .  We  do  well  to  remem- 

ber that  English  History  is,  in  :i  vci v  special  sense,  our  own ; 
and  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  the  spirit  of  American  institu- 
tions can  be  understood  without  some  knowledge  of  the  circum- 
stances in  Great  Britain  which  led  to  the  formation,  and  after- 
ward to  the  independence,  of  our  earliest  States. 

Though  a  large  and  honorable  mass  of  our  citizens  are  of  other 
than  English  descent,  yet  it  is  English  freedom  —  the  slow  and 
sturdy  growth  of  many  centuries —  that  they  or  their  fathers  have 
sought  to  enjoy  under  the  shelter  of  the  great  Republic; — this 
new  slip,  severed  a  hundred  years  ago  from  the  parent  tree,  only 
that  it  might  extend  new  roots  and  branches  in  a  broader  field 
and  under  still  freer  heavens. 

Would  that  the  study  of  the  glorious  centuries  of  English 
History  might  convince  some  young  mind  that  the  sei-vice  of  the 
fatherland  is  not  the  degrading  affair  of  selfish  interest  and  greed 
which  some  would  make  it,  but  the  grandest  of  all  opportunities 
to  serve  God,  win  a  noble  name,  and  benefit  our  race! 


*  History  of  England.     By  M.  E.  Thalhf.imer,  author  of  Ancient  and 
Medieval  and  Modem  History.     lamo.,  cloth,  288  pp.     Illustrated 


VOCAL  CULTIUE 


AND 


elocutio:n': 


WITH   NUMEKOUS   KXERCISES  iS 


READING  AND  SPEAKLNG. 


BT 

Pi:   1     ROBERT  KIDD,  A.M., 

'1 

ntTRVCTOB  or  SLOCI'TIOM  IS  PaUKCKTON  THEOLOGICAL  8SXINAST. 


VAN  ANTWT:RP,  BRAGG  &  CO., 

137  WALNUT  STREET,  28  BOND  STREET, 

C  INC  INN  A  Tl.  xr.  ;r  1 V )  /o  a* 


•      '    *  ^  «  .   ,« 


%'^{,^ 

dK 
^  -p 


EDUCATION  DEPT, 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

ROBERT  KIDD, 

in  the  Clerk's  OflBce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  jJ bates  foi 
the  Southern  District  of  Ohio. 


Stcreotyred  Ht  the  Franklin  Type  Foundry. 


PREFACE 


The  Elementary  Treatise  embraced  in  this  volume  em- 
bodies the  views  of  the  compiler  on  elocutionary  instruc- 
tion. These  views  are  the  result  of  careful  study  and 
observation,  and  long  experience  as  a  practical  teacher  of 
he  subjects  discussed. 

The  primary  object  in  the  preparation  of  this  work  has 
been  to  place  in  convenient  form  for  use,  those  principles, 
rules,  illustrations,  and  exercises,  which,  for  purposes  of 
instruction,  have  been  found  best  calculated  to  make  good 
readers,  and  easy,  graceful,  and  correct  speakers. 

It  is  hoped  that  this  system  of  instruction,  which  has 
been  long  and  successfully  pursued  by  the  compiler,  may, 
in  the  hands  of  others,  prove  a  valuable  aid  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  voice  and  the  art  of  reading  and  speaking. 

The  leading  feature  of  this  treatise,  and  that  claimed  as 
distinguishing  it  from  other  similar  works,  is  the  import- 
ance given  to  the  subject  of  vocal  culture,  without  a 
proper  attention  to  which  success  in  elocution  and  oratory 
is  unattainable.  The  rules  and  exercises  in  this  department 
will  be  found  full  and  complete. 

The  selections  for  reading  and  declamation  have  been 
made  with  reference  to  their  fitness  to  exemplify  the  princi- 
ples discussed  in  the  elementary  portion  of  the  work,  or  to 
illustrate  the  various  styles  of  reading,  declamation,  and 
oratory. 

5 

ivi209495 


CONTENTS 


PAOK. 

Elocution 11 

Breathing   12 

Elementary  Sounds 12 

Definition  of  Terms 15 

Pure  Tone 17 

Position  of  the  Organs 18 

Articulation 19 

Modulation 25 

Emphasis 85 

Cadence 87 

Commencing  Series 38 

The  Parenthesis 40 

Rhetorical  Pause 41 


PAOS. 

Antithesis 46 

Climax 46 

Amplification 49 

Transition 50 

Emphatic  Repetition  ...    52 

Interrogation 53 

Pitch 65 

Force 59 

Quantity, — MoTcment 62 

Exclamation 65 

Personation, — Style 66 

Gesture 67 

Language  of  the  Passions 71 


NARRATIVE    AND   DESCRIPTIVE. 


BXKBCISE.  PAGE. 

1.  A  Providential  Guest  ...  93 

2.  The  Heart's  Charity 94 

8.  Loss  of  Central  America.  96 

4.  The  Pass  of  Death 98 

5.  Blacksmith  of  Ragenbach  99 

6.  The  Life  Boat 101 

7.  The  Miser 102 

8.  Ocean  Life 104 

10.  Hassan,  the  Camel  Driver  106 

11 .  Forty  Years  Ago 109 

12.  The  Fatal  Falsehood 110 

13.  The  Cynic 113 

14.  The  Field  of  Waterloo. .  .114 
16.     Varieties  in  Prose 116 

16.  Poetical  Selections 118 

17.  Death  of  Morris 120 

18.  Poor  Little  Jim 122 

19.  The  Sunset  of  Battle 123 

20.  Poetical  Selections 125 

(vi) 


EXERCISE.  PAGE. 

21.  Anecdotes 126 

22.  Poetical  Selections 128 

23.  False  Witness  Detected..  130 

24.  Poetical  Selections 133 

25.  Anecdotes 135 

26.  Hate  of  the  Bowl 137 

27.  Steam  Engine 138 

28.  Nature's  Gentleman 141 

29.  The  Barometer 142 

30.  Leap  for  Life 144 

31.  The  Demagogue 145 

32.  Poetical  Selections 147 

33.  Whaleship  and  Cannibals  148 

34.  After  a  Tempest 150 

35.  Anecdotes 151 

36.  Marco  Bozzaris 153 

37.  Anecdotes 155 

38.  Absalom 157 

39.  The  Irish  Peasantry 158 


CONTENTS. 


VU 


DIDACTIC   PIECTES. 


KXiRCISB.  PAGE. 

40.  Industry  and  Eloquence..  161 

41.  Awake  to  Effort 1G2 

42.  Cheerfulness 164 

48     Varieties  in  Prose 166 

44     Poetical  Selections 167 

46.     Varieties  in  Prose 169 

46.  Personality  of  a  Laugh.  .171 

47.  Do  n't  Run  in  Debt 173 

48.  No  Excellence  without  La- 

bor  174 

49.  Where     there  's    a    Will 

there  's  a  Way 176 

60.     Varieties  in  Prose 176 

6?.     Good  Temper 178 

62.    Oppooite  Examples 179 

5S.  Adircss  to  the  Indolent.  .181 

M.     Variciies  in  Prose 182 

60      Paalm  of  Life 184 

6"'     Varieties  in  Prose 185 


EXKRCISE.  PAOR. 

67.  What  '11  They  Think 186 

68.  Paddle  Your  Own  Canoe.  187 

69.  Varieties  in  Prose 189 

60.  Poetical  Selections 190 

61.  Varieties  in  Prose 192 

62.  Literary  Pursuits 193 

63.  Opportunity  for  Effort... 194 

64.  Suppose 195 

66.  The  Spider  and  the  Fly .  .196 

66.  Parallel  between  Pope  and 

Dryden 197 

67.  Condition  of  Man  Vindi- 

cated  198 

68.  Advice  to  Preachers 200 

69.  Poetry  of  Science 201 

70.  Early  rising  conducive  to 

Health 202 

71.  Oratory 208 

72.  Flowers 205 


MORAL   AND   RELIGIOUS. 


73.  Inspiration  of  the  Bible.  .207 

74.  Poetical  Selections 208 

76.     Varieties  in  Prose 209 

76.  Suspense 211 

77.  Telescope  and  Microscope  212 

78.  The  Unseen  Battlefield..  .216 

79.  Varieties  in  Prose 216 

80.  God,  the  Source  of  Conso- 

lation  218 

81.  "We'll  All  Meet  Again  in 

the  Morning." 218 


W. 
92. 
98. 
94. 
96. 


82.  Tell  me,  ye  Winged  Winds  220 

83.  Survey  of  the  Heavens. .  .221 

84.  Defense  of  Pulpit   Elo- 

quence  222 

85.  Poetical  Selections 225 

86.  Infidelity  Tested 227 

87.  Religion  the  only  Basis  of 

Society 228 

88.  The  Celestial  Army 229 

89.  The  Promises  of  Religion 

to  the  Young 231 


SENATORIAL. 


Spirit   of   the    American 

Revolution 283 

On  Reform  in  Parliament  286 

Reply  of  Mr.  Pitt. 236 

American  Laborers 288 

Last  Speech  of  Emmet. .  .239 
Against  American  War.  .241 


96.  Arbitrary    Power    not 

given  to  Man 242 

97.  Barbarity    of    Nationa? 

Hatreds 24« 

98.  Varieties  in  Prose 246 

99.  Speech  of  Patrick  Il-nry  247 
100.     Varieties  in  Prose  250 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


KXERCISB.  PAOB. 

101.  Nobility  of  Labor 251 

102.  Right  to  Tax  America.  .253 

103.  Fate  of  the  American  In- 

dians   254 

104      Model  for  the  Formation 

of  Character 256 

106.     Supposed  Speech  of  John 

Adams 257 

106.  Ambition  of  a  Statesman  259 

107.  Speech  in  Conyention  of 

Virginia 260 

108.  Ignorance  in  our  Coun- 

try a  Crime ...262 

109.  Rebellion    and    Revolu- 

tion   263 

110.  Political  Corruption 264 

111.  Extension  of  the  Repub- 

lic  266 

112.  Speech  of  James  Otis. .  .267 

113.  The  Age  of  Reason 268 

114.  Reply  to  Mr.  Corry 269 

116.     On  Sudden  Political  Con- 
versions  270 


BXBRCISE.  PAOB 

116.  Invective    against    War- 

ren Hastings 272 

117.  Popular  Elections 274 

118.  Oration  against  Verres.275 

119.  Oration  against  Catiline  276 

120.  Degeneracy  of  Athens.. 277 

121.  On  Reduction  of  Revenue  278 

122.  Patriotic  Sclf-Sacrifice.  .280 

123.  South  Carolina  and  Mat»- 

sachusetts 281 

124.  Passing  of  the  Rubicon.. 283 

125.  Napoleon  Bonaparte 284 

126.  The  Stability  of  our  Gov- 

ernment  286 

127.  Against    Curtailing    th3 

Right  of  SuflFrage 287 

128.  To  the  American  Troops 

before    the    Battle  of 
Long  Island 23.' 

129.  Liberty  and  Union 2?*: 

130.  Death  of  J.  Q.  Adams.  .29f 

131.  Moral  effects  of  Intem- 

perance  292 


DRAMATIC   AND  RHETORICAL. 


132.  Bernardo  Del  Carpio.... 293 

133.  Philip  Van  Artevelde  to 

the  Men  of  Ghent.... 295 

1 34.  Varieties  in  Verse 296 

135.  Marmion  Taking    Leave 

of  Douglas 297 

136.  Ode  on  the  Passions. . .  .299 

137.  Antony's  Oration  over 

Caesar 301 

138.  Varieties  in  Verse 304 

139.  Hamlet's  Soliloquy 305 

140.  The  Maniac 30G 

141.  Rolla's    Address    to    the 

Peruvians 307 

142.  Soliloouy  of  the  King  of 

Denmark 308 

143.  V  arieties  in  Verse 309 


144.  Soliloquy  of  a  Drunkard's 

Wife 311 

145.  Catiline's  Defiance 312 

146.  Marullus   to  the  Roman 

Populace 314 

147.  The  Miser  Punished 314 

148.  On  the  Death  of  Caesar. 316 

149.  The   Baron's   Last  Ban- 

quet  317 

150.  Song  of  the  Greeks 819 

151.  Warren's    Address    at 

Bunker  Hill  Battle.. 320 

152.  Tell  on  his  Native  Hills  321 

153.  Bruce's  Address ..822 

154.  Macbeth  to  the  Dagger.  .322 

155.  Spartacus  to  the  Gladia- 

tors at  Capua 323 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


CXeRC:SE.  PAGE. 

156.  Woolsey's  Fall 325 

167.  The  Rum  Maniac 326 

158.  Battle  Hymn 328 

159.  Kocks  of  my  Country..  .328 
100.  Brutus,  on  the  Death  of 

Lucretia 829 

161.  Varieties  in  Verse 330 

162.  Othello's  Apology 332 

163.  Hotspur's  Description  of 

a  Fop 334 

16-J.     The  Gambler's  Wife 335 

165.  Cassius  against  Caesar.  .336 
1  Ilienzi's  Address  to  the 

Romans 338 

167.  The  Sailor  Boy's  Dream. 339 

168.  Henry  V.  at  Harfleur...341 

169.  Seven  ages  of  Man 841 

1 70.  Parrhasius 342 

171.  The  Seminole's  Defiance. 344 


EXERCISE.  P.VOE. 

172.  Love  of  Country 345 

173.  Varieties  in  Verse 846 

1 74.  From  Lalla  Rookh 349 

176.     Moloch  and  Satan 350 

176.  The  Fireman 351 

177.  The  Dying  Brigand.  ..   853 

178.  Soliloquy  from  Manfred. 854 

179.  Ginevra 855 

180.  Excelsior S57 

181.  Soliloquy  of  Richard  III .  868 

182.  Moonlight  and  Music... 359 

183.  The  Isles  of  Greece 360 

184.  Varieties  in  Verse 361 

185.  Lochiel's  Warning 863 

186.  Song  of  the  War 866 

187.  Charge  of  the  Light  Bri- 

gade  866 

188.  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter.  867 


AMUSING. 


1  Widow   Bcdott  to  Elder 

Sniffles 369 

190.  The  Lavin'— A  Poe-m...371 

191.  Dr.  Bashaw's  Oration..  .374 
I'tJ.     The  Apple  Dumplings  and 

George  the  Third 374 

193.  The  Directing  Post 376 

194.  Parody,— The  Old  Oaken 

Bucket 876 

195.  Lyceum   Speech  of    Mr. 

Orator  Climax 877 

196.  The  Whiskers  878 

197.  Eloquence  in  a  Western 

Court 881 

198.  Poetry  Now-a-days 882 

199.  Daniel  versus  Dishcloth . .  388 

200.  Housekeeper's  Soliloquy  886 

201.  The  Rejected 887 

202.  The  Confession 388 

203.  Tlie  Bachelor's  Soliloquy  889 


204.  Inexperienced  Speaker.  .3be 

205.  The  Frenchman  and  the 

Rats 390 

206.  Borrowed    Nails — Heads 

and  Points 891 

207.  Fourth  of  July  Oration. 892 

208.  Mr.  John  Smith's  Will.  .393 

209.  Examination  of   a   Wit- 

ness  896 

210.  Mrs.  Caudle's  Lecture..  .897 

211.  Charge  to  the  Jury 398 

212.  Truth  in  Parenthesis.. .  .399 

218.    The  Modern  Belle 400 

214.    Orator  Puff 401 

216.    Nobody's  Song 402 

216.  Coquette  Punished 408 

217.  The  Lost  Pantaloons 40b 

218.  Stump  Spooch . .  .406 

219.  Parody  on  Hamlet's  Solil- 

oquy. 407 


CONTENTS 


CXRBCISE.  PAGE. 

2l'0.  Charge  of  a  Dutch  Mag- 
istrate  408 

221.  The  Nantucket  Skipper. 409 

222.  The  Frog 410 

223.  Parody  on  the  Burial  of 

Sir  John  Moore 410 

224.  The  Hypochondriac 411 

225.  Buzfux  versus  Pickwick. 413 

226.  Socrates  Snooks 41G 

227.  Varieties  in  Verse 417 

228.  Fuss  at  Fires 419 

229.  Praying  for  Rain 420 

230.  The  Dapple  Mare 422 

231.  First  Appearance  in  type  424 

232.  Love  and  Physic 425 

233.  Varieties  in  Ver«e 427 

234.  The  Old  Hat 429 

235.  The  Three  Black  Crows. 431 

236.  Char-co-o-al  1 432 


MISCELLANE 

253. 

The  Old  Arm  Chair. . . 

.455 

265. 

254. 

Political  Integrity 

.456 

266. 

255. 

Who  shall  Judge  a  Man  ?  457 

207. 

256. 

Highland  Mary 

.458 

268. 

257. 

The  Rook  and  the  Lark 

..459 

269. 

258. 

The  Old  Man  Dreams  . 

.400 

270. 

259 

The  Sniveler 

.461 
.462 

260. 

The  Last  Footfall 

271. 

261. 

Varieties  in  Verse 

.463 

272. 

262. 

The  Isle  of  Long  Ago. . 

.465 

273. 

263. 

Llewellyn  and  his  Dog. 

.466 

274. 

264. 

The  Chambered  Nautilus  467 

KXERCISE.  PAOl 

237.  All  Tipsy  but  Me 4SS 

238.  Effects  of  Influenza 484 

239.  Bobadil's   Military   Tac- 

tics  435 

240.  Speech  Obituary 435 

211.     Thanksgiving  Dinner..  437 
242.     The  Mysterious  Walker  441 

243  Pleading  Extraordinary  442 

244  The    Farmer    and    the 

Counselor 444 

245.  The  Modest  W:i 446 

246.  The  March  of  Intellect. 446 

247.  A  Tea  Party 447 

248.  There  once  was  a  Toper  449 

249.  Yes  or  No 450 

250.  Queries 451 

251.  Deacon  Stokes 462 

252.  The  Drunkard's  Resolu- 

tion   454 


The  Power  of  Habit 468 

E  Pluribus  Unum 470 

The  Union 471 

Esto  Perpetua 473 

Lay  of  the  Madman 474 

Love,  Murder,  and   Mat- 
rimony— Almost ,476 

The  Miser  and  Plutiis.  .477 

Recollections 478 

Little  by  Little 47'cJ 

F  m    With    You    Once 
Again 480 


•  •  •  V 


ELOCUTION. 


Elocution  is  the  art  of  reading  and  speaking  correctly. 
Ita  rules  relate  chiefly  to  the  management  of  the  voice  in 
the  expression  of  thought  and  emotion.  , 

The  vocal  qualifications,  necessary  to  enable  the  teader 
)r  speaker  to  bring  out  the  sense  and  sentiment  of  dis- 
jourse   in  a  pleasing  and  impressive  manner,  are: — 

First,    A  clear,  futl,  resonant  voice. 

Second,    A  perfectly  distinct,  and  correct  articulation. 

Third,  Such  a  control  of  the  voice,  as  to  be  able  to  vary 
its  modulations  at  pleasure. 

Ignorance  of  the  right  way  of  using  the  lungs  and  the 
larynx,  in  speaking,  reading,  and  singing,  has  caused  more 
cases  of  bronchitis  and  pulnionary  consumption  among 
students,  vocalists,  clergymen  and  other  public  speakers, 
than  all  other  causes  combined. 

The  right  use  of  the  breathing  apparatus,  in  connection 
with  the  exercise  of  the  voice,  ought,  therefore,  to  be  the 
first  subject  to  which  the  attention  of  the  student  of  FAo* 
cution  is  called.  Before  the  pupil  is  permitted  to  read  a 
sentence,  he  must  be  taught,  not  by  precept,  but  by  exam- 
ple, how  to  manage  the  breath  while  exercising  the  voice. 

The  child  thus  trained  will  speak,  read  or  sing,  in  a 
clear,  full,  natural  tone,  and  will  grow  up,  in  a  great  mcas* 
are,  free  from  the  worst  faults  and  defects  in  Elocution. 

11 


•  •       • 


^'.i:  *  .:  :    f  ;\  ''blooution. 


BREATHTNG. 

Stand  or  sit  erect;  keep  the  head  up  and  the  chest  ex- 
panded; throw  the  shoulders  well  back;  place  the  handa 
upon  the  hips,  with  the  fingers  pressing  upon  the  abdomen, 
and  the  thumbs  extending  backward;  inhale  the  breath 
ilowly,  until  the  lungs  are  fully  inflated,  retaining  the 
breath  for  a  few  moments,  then  breathing  it  out  as  slowly 
as  it  was  taken  in. 

Let  the  chest  rise  and  fall  freely  at  every  inspiration, 
and  take  care  not  to  make  the  slightest  aspirate  sound,  in 
taking  in  or  giving  out  the  breath. 

Continue  to  txike  in  and  throw  out  the  breath  with  in- 
creasing rapidity,  until  you  can  instantly  inflate,  and,  as 
suddenly,  empty  the  lungs.  Repeat  this  exercise  several 
times  a  day,  and  continue  it  as  long  as  it  i<  unattended 
with  dizziness  or  other  unpleasant  feelings. 


ELEMENTARY    SOUNDS. 

The  Elementary  Sounds  of  the  English  Language  are 
classified  under  three  great  divisions:  First,  the  Vocals; 
Second,    the  Suhvocah;   Third,  the  Aspirates. 

VOCALS. 

Vocals  consist  of  pure  tone,  and  are  subdivided  into 
monothongs,  which  have  the  same  sound  from  the  com- 
mencement to  the  close;  into  the  dipthongs,  which  begin 
with  one  sound  and  end  with  another;  and  into  the  short 
Tocals,  which  differ  from  the  monothongs  only  in  the  man 
ner  in  which  they  are  uttered. 

SUBVOCALS. 
The  subvocals  possess  vocality,  but  in  an  inferior  degree 
and,  in  all  of  them,  the  vocalized  breath  is  more  or  lesa 
obstructed. 


V  ULTURE.  13 

The  8ubvocaIs  are  divided  into  the  correlatives,  each  of 
which  terminates  in  an  aspirate  sound ;  into  the  nasals,  in 
which  the  vocalized  breath  is  passed  through  the  nasal  pas- 
sage; into  the  liquids,  so  called  from  their  special  depend- 
ence upon  the  tongue;  and  into  the  coalescents,  from  their 
readily  uniting  with  the  vocal  sounds. 

ASPIRATES. 
The   aspirate   sounds   have    no    vocal    tone,   and,  conse- 
uuently,  differ  most  from  the  vocals.     They  arc  divided  into 
'.ho  explodents  and  the  continuants. 


C  HART  OF  THE  ELEMENTARY  SOUNDS 

SINGLE  OPEN  VOWEL  SOUNDS  OR  MONOTHONGS. 

1.  e,      as  heard  in  me,  eve,  thee,  free,  &c. 

2.  ;i.  "  ale,  may,  thcj,  pay. 
o.    a,      as  heard  before  r,  in  care,  there,  air,  pear. 


4. 

a, 

a 

in                 arm,  bar,  hard,  ma. 

5. 

aw, 

u 

law,  awe,  jaw,  saw. 

6. 

o, 

u 

no,  woe,  own,  home. 

7. 

00, 

u 

ooze,  fool,  moon,  room. 
SHORT  VOCALS. 

8. 

i. 

:is  in 

it,  will,  live,  give,  pit. 

9. 

e, 

let,  debt,  end,  deck,  pet. 

10. 

e. 

err,  verse,  serve,  sir,  fir. 

n. 

«'> 

add,  mat,  slab,  past,  bad. 

12. 

o, 

on,  rob,  log,  dog,  cot. 

13. 

u, 

ii|>,  out.  -iin,  but,  sup. 

14. 

oo, 

foot,  soot,  booV   ' 

14  ELOCUTION. 

DIPHTHONGS,  OR  DOUBLE  VOWELS 


15. 

1, 

as  in 

die,  sky,  try,  fie,  lie. 

16. 

oi, 

it 

coil,  joy,  boy,  oil. 

17. 

ow, 

u 

now,  vow,  owl,  proud, 

18. 

u, 

u 

few,  new,  due,  view. 

ELEMENTS    OF    WHICH    THE    DIPnTHONG^U.    SOUNDS 
ARE   MADE   UP. 

I  is  composed  of  the  eleventh  and  first  sounds;  Oi,  of 
the  twelfth  and  first;  Ow,  of  the  twelfth  and  sevcntli;  ynd 
U,  of  the  eighth  and  seventh  sounds. 

SUBVOCALS. 
CORRELATIVES. 

19.    D,    as  in     babe,  web ;  b  stops  with  the  light  sound  of  p. 
dead,  had,  bed;    " 
gag,  dog,  wag ;     " 
wedge,  badge,  judge; 
valve,  wave,  live; 
thee,  thou,  breathe; 
zeal,  ooze,  size ; 
pleasure,  azure,  measure; 

NASALS. 

nun,  one,  on,  moon, 
maim,  home,  me,  come, 
bring,  thing,  singing,  sting. 

LIQUIDS. 

30.  1,        as  in        hill,  shall,  well,  all. 

31.  r,  (the  hard  or  trill  sound)  as  in  rise,  drum,  roar. 

32.  r   (the  soft  sound)  at  the  end  of  the  word,  as  in  roat 
fear. 


20.  d, 

(( 

21.  g, 

« 

22.  j, 

(( 

23.   V, 

(( 

24.   th, 

a 

25.   z, 

(( 

26.   zh, 

a 

27.  n 

as  in 

28.  m, 

(( 

29.  ng, 

(( 

(( 

« 

t. 

C( 

u 

k. 

i( 

u 

ch. 

(( 

u 

f. 

u 

il 

th. 

(( 

i' 

s. 

re; 

« 

sh. 

VOCAL    CDLTURK.  16 


OOALESCENTS. 

33.  W,        as  in      we,  way,  was,  wit. 

34.  J,  "         ye,  you,  yet,  yes. 


35. 

P» 

as  in 

36. 

t, 

u 

37. 

k, 

u 

38. 

ch, 

as  in 

39. 

f, 

ti 

40. 

th, 

(( 

41. 

s, 

a 

42. 

sh, 

11 

43. 

h, 

« 

44. 

wh, 

(( 

ASPIRATES. 

EXPLODENTS. 

pipe,  cap,  rope,  step,  pop. 
it,  met,  spot,  that,  rot. 
back,  thick,  kick,  deck,  neck. 

CONTINUANTS. 

church,  which,  wretch, 
life,  stiff,  laugh,  fife, 
think,  three,  breath,  thing, 
see,  pass,  hiss,  this, 
shame,  wish,  crash,  dash, 
horse,  home,  he,  hence, 
whence,  where,  what,  which. 


As  the  words  Pitchy  Force^  Stress^  Quantity,  Qualify^ 
Movement,  and  other  terms  will  frequently  occur  in  the 
exercises  upon  the  elementary  sounds,  it  is  proper  at  this 
point  to  define  them. 

PiTcn  signifies  the  place  in  the  musical  scale  on  which 
the  clement,  syllable,  or  word  is  sounded;  or  it  may  refer 
to  the  pervading  pitch  of  the  voice  in  reading  or  speaking. 
The  following  distinctions  may  be  made  in  pitch:  very 
low,  low,  middle,  or  conversational,  high,  and  very  high. 

Force  relates  to  the  loudness  of  the  sound,  the  degrees 
of  which  may  bo  described  as  suppressed,  subdued,  mod- 
erate, energetic,  and  vehement. 

Stress  relates  to  the  diflferent  modes  of  applying  force. 

Monotone.     When  the  pitch  of  the  voice  oontinuos  the 


16  ELOCUTION. 

Bamc,  and  when  the  same  degree  of  force  is  kept  up  from 
the  commencement  to  the  close  of  the  sound,  it  is  called 
the  monotone. 

Swell.  When  the  force  is  gradually  increased  so  as  to 
swell  out  the  sound  as  it  advances  toward  the  middle,  and 
then  as  gradually  vanishes  into  silence,  it  is  called  the 
Bwell,  or  medium  stress. 

Expulsive  Ra.dical  Stress.  In  this  the  force  is  ap- 
plied so  as  to  swell  out  the  first  part  of  the  syllable  or 
sound,  and  gradually  diminish  on  the  vanishing  part  of 
the  sound. 

Explosive  Radical  Stress  occurs  when  the  first  part 
of  a  syllable  is  given  with  great  abruptness  and  percussive 
force.  The  short  vocals  when  uttered  in  this  way  furnish 
examples  of  it 

Vanishinq  Stress  occurs  when  the  sound  gradually  ex- 
pands as  it  swells  onward,  then  suddenly  terminates  with 
a  vocal  explosion,  similar  to  that  heard  in  the  explosive 
radical  stress. 

Quantity  relates  to  the  length  of  time  the  voice  dwells 
upon  a  syllable  or  word.  The  following  passage,  if  prop- 
erly expressed,  will  furnish  an  example  of  long  quantity: 

"Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin !  Woe  unto  thee,  Bethsaida!" — 
and  the  following,  of  short  quantity,  if  uttered  in  a  tone 
of  excitement  and  defiance :  "  Fret,  till  your  proud  heart 
breaks  1" 

Quality  relates  to  the  kind  of  voice.  The  words  com- 
monly used  to  describe  it  aie,  clear,  husky,  harsh,  mellow, 
rough,  smooth,  deep,  thin,  heavy,  light,  boyish,  girlish. 

Movement  relates  to  the  degree  of  rapidity  with  which 
the  voice  moves  in  the  utterance  of  sounds,  syllables,  and 
words.  The  degrees  of  rapidity  are,  very  slow,  slow,  mod- 
erate, lively,  rapid,  and  very  rapid. 

The  rules  and  exercises  in  Elocution  may  be  classified 
under  the  two  princioal  heads  of 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  17 


ARTICULATION    AND    EXrUESSION. 

Articulation  includes  the  rules  and  exercises  upon  the 
/ilcnientary  sounds  in  syllabication,  in  analysis,  in  accent, 
ind  in  pronunciation. 

Expression  includes  the  rules  and  exercises  which  relate 
to  the  management  of  the  voice,  the  look,  gesture,  and 
action,  in  the  expression  of  thought,  sentiment,  and  passion. 

The  exercises  in  articulation  are  those  to  which  the  at- 
tention of  the  pupil  should  be  almost  exclusively  given, 
until  a  good  control  of  the  voice  has  been  obtained. 

A  good  articulation  consists  in  giving  to  each  element 
in  a  syllable  its  due  proportion  of  sound  and  correct  ex- 
pression, so  that  the  ear  can  readily  distinguish  every  word, 
and  every  syllable  that  is  uttered. 

A  full,  pure  tone  of  voice,  and  a  good  articulation,  con- 
stitute the  basis  of  every  other  excellence  in  reading  and 
oratory. 


PURE   TONE. 

Pure  Tone  is  expressed  with  less  expenditure  of  breatn 
than  any  other  quality  of  voice;  it  is  smooth,  resonant, 
and  agreeable,  and  entirely  free  from  any  aspirated,  gut- 
tural, or  other  impure  quality  of  vocal  sound. 

The  most  severe  and  sustained  exercise  of  the  voice  in 
pure  tone,  if  the  voice  be  pitched  aright,  is  not  only  un- 
attended with  any  bad  effect  upon  the  lungs  and  throat, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  tends  to  strengthen  and  invigorate 
them,  and  fortifies  the  wlndc  svstiMu  nirainst  the  invasion 
of  disease. 

To  commaiKi  a  luii,  resonant,  and  pure  tone  of  voice, 
these  conditions  are  indispensable: — 

Firsts  a  full  and  copious  breathing,  as  described  in  ex- 
ercises 1  and  2. 

Secondy   a   free    and    iiitinal    action    if    the    abdominal 
muscles,  in  the  inhalation  and  expulsion  of  the  breath. 
Kinn.— 2 


18  ELOCUTIOK. 

Thirds  the  muscles  which  regulate  the  action  of  the  jaw 
must  be  relaxed. 

Fourth,  the   throat  and   the   mouth  must   be    kept  well 
open,  so  as  to  give  free  course  to  the  sound. 

Any  one  who  expects  to  derive  practical  benefit  from  the 
following  rules  and  exercises,  must  study  them  carefully 
iud  practice  them  regularly,  systematically,  and  energct 
ically.  Begin  with  the  first  rule,  and  master  it  so  thor 
oughly  that  you  can  readily  give  a  correct  exemplification 
of  it;  then  take  up  the  next  rule  and  its  accompanying 
exercises,  and  so  proceed  to  the  last  example  in  the  book. 


POSITIONS    OF   TiiE   TEETH   AND   LIPS 

IN   THE   UTTERANCE   OF   THE   DIFFERENT   OPEN   VOWEL   SOUNDS. 

In  sounding  element  No.  1,  the  teeth  must  be  separated 
about  half  an  inch,  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  drawn 
well  backward. 

In  No.  2  the  teeth  must  be  separated,  at  least  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch,  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  drawn 
farther  back  than  in  No.  1. 

In  No.  3  the  teeth  must  be  separated  a  little  farther  still, 
and  the  opening  of  the  mouth  must  be  more  enlarged  than 
in  No.  2. 

In  No.  4  the  mouth  must  be  thrown  wide  open,  and  the 
corners  drawn  still  farther  back  than  in  No.  3. 

In  No.  5  the  teeth  must  be  separated  about  the  same 
distance  as  in  No.  4,  the  lips  pressed  forward  and  the 
aperture  of  the  mouth  diminished. 

In  No.  6  the  teeth  must  be  brought  nearer  together,  the 
lips  pressed  farther  out,  and  the  aperture  of  the  mouth 
made  much  smaller  than  in  No.  5. 

In  No.  7  the  lips  must  be  pressed  farther  outward,  and 
more  tightly  together  than  in  No.  6. 

To  FIND  THE  Exact  Sound  op  any  Element. — Stand 
or  sit  perfectly  at  ease,  drop  the  jaw,  so  as  to  keep  the 
throat  and  mouth  open,  then-  take  in  a  full  breath,  draw  the 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  10 

muscles  of  the  abdomen  as  far  back  as  possible,  retain  the 
breath  for  a  few  moments,  then  express  in  a  full,  aflfirraative 
tone,  any  word  of  one  syllable  that  terminrit*^?  with  the 
sound  in  question. 

Continue  to  dwell  upon  the  last  sound  in  the  syllable  as 
lung  as  possible,  without  changing  its  character  or  varying 
the  position  of  the  organs  of  speech,  in  the  slightest  degree. 

When  you  can  thus  express  all  the  sounds  with  tolerable 
accuracy,  next  reverse  the  position  of  the  sounds,  in  the 
syllable  or  word,  and  practice  upon  them  in  that  connection. 
(Continue  this  exercise,  at  least  once  a  day,  until  the  ear 
becomes  so  accustomed  to  the  true  sound  of  each  of  the 
elements,  as  to  be  able  instantly  to  detect  it,  no  matter  by 
what  letter  or  letters  the  sound  may  be  represented  in  the 
syllable  or  word. 

Do  not  exert  yourself  at  first,  to  express  the  sounds  in  a 
very  loud  and  forcible  manner.  Take  it  easily  and  go 
slowly  at  the  beginning,  and  you  will  soon  be  able  to  vo- 
calize with  great  force,  in  a  full  and  pure  tone  of  voice. 


EXERCISES  IN  ARTICULATION. 

EXERCISE  L 
Give  each  of  the  open  vowel  sounds  in  connection  with 
tlie  subvocals,  as  arranged  in  the  accompanyini;  table,  in  a 
full,  pure,  resonant,  affirmative  tone. 

1  2  8  4  5  0  7  t/>  l(i  17  18 

T*;     71,     It.     U.  aw,    7J,  oo,      i.     oi.     ow,     tT. 

Be,    ba,    ba,    ba,  baw,    bo,  boo,    bi,    boi,    bow,  bu. 

De,   da,   da,    da,  daw,    do,  doc,    di,    del,   dow,  du. 

Co,    ga,   ga,    ga,  gaw,    go,  goo,    gi,    goi,   gow,  gu. 

Je,    ja,    ja,    ja,  jaw,    jo,  joo,    ji,    joi,    jou,    ju. 

Ve,   va,   va,    va,  vaw,    vo,  voo,    vi,    voi,    vow,   vu. 

Tlie,  tha,  tha,  tha,  thaw,  tho,  thoo,  thi,  thoi,  thou,  thu. 

Ze,    za,    za,    za,  zaw,     zo,  zoo,    zi,    zoi,     zoii,    zu. 

Zhe,  zha,  zha,  zha,  zhaw,  zho,  zhoo,  zhi,  zhoi,  zhou,  zhu. 

No,     TIM.      V.  ■  ';0\v.      111!. 


1?0  BLOCUTION. 

Me,  ina,  ma,  mn.  mo,  moo,  mi,  moi,  mow,  mu. 

(The  element  ny  never  begins  a  syllable.) 

Le,    la,    la,    la,    law,    lo,    loo,    li,    loi,    low,    lu. 

Re,   ra,  ra,  ra,  raw,   ro,   roo,  ri,  roi,  row,  ru. 

'The  soft  sound  of  r  never  begins  a  syllable.) 

We,  wa,  wa,  wa.   waw,   wo,  woo,   wi,   woi,  wow,   wu. 

Te.    ya,   ya,   yn.  yo,    yo-  a,    yow,   yu. 


EXERCISE  II. 


Reverse  the  position  of  the  elements  in  the  syllables 
giving  the  vowel  sound  first. 

In  this  exercise  dwell  as  lon^  as  possible  upon  the  sub- 
vocal 

in     20      ^j  :4        i-j      CO        i'4       -dh        4i9       S<>    "•      •"•'?? 3       34 

b,  d,  g  th,  z,  zh,  n,  m,  ng,  1.  w,  y. 

Eb,  ed,  eg,  ej,  ev,  eth,  ez,  ezh,  en,  cm,  eng,  el,  er, — ew,  ey. 
Ab,  ad,  ag,  aj,  av,  ath,  az,  azh,  an,  am,  ang,  al,  ar, — aw,  ay. 
Ab,  ad,  ag,  aj,  av,  ath,  az,  azh,  an,  am,  ang,  al,  ar, — aw,  ay. 
Ab,  ad,  ag,  aj,  av,  ath,  az,  azh,  an,  am,  ang,  al,  ar, — aw,  ay. 
Awb,  awd,  awg,  awj,  awv,  awth,  awz,  awzh,  awn,  awm, 

awng,  awl,  awr, — aw,  awy. 
Ob,  od,  og,  oj,  ov,  oth,  oz,  ozh,  on,  om,  ong,  ol,  or, — ow,  oy. 
Oob,  ood,  oog,  ooj,  oov,  ooth,  ooz,  oozh,  oon,  oom,  oong, 

ool,  oor, — cow,  ooy. 
lb,  id,  ig,  ij,  iv,  ith,  iz,  izh,  in,  im,  ing,  il,  ir, — iw,  iy. 
Oib,  Old,  oig,  oij,  oiv,  oith,  oiz,  oizh,  oin,  oim,  oing,  oil, 

oir, — oiw,  oiy. 
Owb,  owd,  owg,  owj,  owv,  owth,  owz,  owzh,  own,  owm 

owng,  owl,  owr, — ow,  owy. 
Ub,  ud,  ug,  uj,  uv,  uth,  uz,  uzh,  un,  um,  ung,  ul,  ur. 


EXERCISE   III. 

Give   each  of  the   short  vocals,  in    connection  with    the 
accompanying  subvocals,  as  in  Exercises  I.  and  II.     Prac- 


VOCAL  CULTURE.  ?! 

the  syllables  until  the  vocal  element  can  >^e 
uUoieJ  with  a  sharp,  ringing  sound,  like  the  explosion  of 
a  percussion  cap. 


EXERCISE  TV. 


Give  each  of  the  aspirates  in  connection  with  the  accom- 
f  anying  open  vowel  sounds  :    thus, 

1  2  8  4  5  6  -  ir>  16  17  1» 

e,     a,     a,     a,     aw,     o,     oo,     i,     oi,     ow,    u. 
Pe,    pa,    pa,    pa,    paw,    po,    poo,    pi,    poi,    pow,    pu. 
To,    t:i,     t;i,     t;i,     taw,    to,     too,    ti,    toi,     tow,    tu. 
Ko,  ka,    ka,    ka,    kaw,    ko,    koo,    ki,    koi,    kow,    ku. 
Che,  cha,  cha,  cha,  chaw,  cho,  choc,  ohi,  choi,  chow,  chu. 
Fe,    fa,    fa,    fa,     faw,     fo,     foo,    fi,     foi,     fow,     fu. 
The,  tha,  tha,  tha,  thaw,  the,  thoo,  thi,  thoi,  thow,  thu. 
Se,    sa,    sa,    sa,    saw,    so,    soo,    si,     soi,    sow,    su. 
She,  sha,  sha,  sha,  shaw,  sho,  shoo,  shi,  shoi,  show,  shu. 
He,  ha,    ha,   ha,    haw,    ho,    hoc,    hi,    hoi,    how,   hu. 
Who,  wha,  wha,  wha,  whaw,  who,  •whoo,  whi,  whoi,  whow, 
whu. 


EXERCISE  V. 


Reverse  the  position  of  the  elements  in  the  syllable,  first 

giving  the  open  vowel  sound,  then  the  aspirate  sound:  thu?<, 

85  86  87  8S  89  40  41  42  43  44 

p,      t,  k,     eh,      f,      th,      s,      sh,  h,     wh. 

Ep,     et,  ek,     ech,     ef,     eth,     es,     esh,  eh,     ewh. 

Ap,     at,  ak,     ach,     af,     ath,     as,     ash,  ah,     awh. 

Ap,     at,  ak,     ach,     af,     ath,     as,     ash,  ah,     awh. 

Ap,     at,  ak,     ach,     af,     ath,     as,     ash,  ah,     awh. 
Awp,  awt,  awk,  awch,  awf,  awth,  aws,  awsh,  awh,  awwh. 

Op,     ot,  ok,     och,     of,     oth,     OS,     osh,  oh,    owh. 
Oop,   not.    ook,   ooch,  oof,   ooth,  oos,  oosh,  ooh,  oowh. 

I J  ik,     ich,     if.      ith,     is,     ish,  ih,     iwh. 

Oij»,      •;  .  oik,     oicli,    oil',     oith,    ois,    oish,  oili,    oiwli 


ELOCUTION 


Owp,  owt,  owk,  owch,  owf,  owth,  ows,  owsh,  owh,  owwh. 
Up,    ut,     uk,     uch,     uf,     uth,     us,    ush,     ah,     uwh. 


EXERCISE  yi. 


Give  each  of  the  aspirate  sounds,  in  connection  with  each 
f  the  short  yotals,  with  explosive  force:  thus, 


8 

t 

10 

11 

12 

13 

14 

h 

e, 

e, 

a, 

0, 

u, 

00. 

Pi, 

pe, 

pe, 

pa. 

po, 

pu. 

poo. 

Ti, 

te, 

te, 

ta. 

to. 

tu, 

too 

Ki, 

ke. 

ke, 

ka, 

ko, 

ku. 

koo. 

Chi, 

che, 

che, 

cha, 

cho. 

chu. 

choo. 

Fi, 

fe, 

fe, 

fa, 

fo, 

fu, 

foo. 

Thi, 

the. 

the, 

tha, 

the. 

thu. 

thoo. 

Si, 

se. 

se. 

sa. 

so, 

su. 

soo. 

Shi, 

she, 

she. 

sha. 

she, 

shu. 

shoo. 

Hi, 

he, 

he, 

ha, 

ho. 

hu, 

hoo. 

Whi, 

whe. 

whe. 

wha. 

who. 

whu. 

whoo 

EXERCISE 

VII. 

Reverse  the  position  of  the  sounds  in  the  syllables,  giv- 
ing the  short  vocal  first,  and  the  aspirates  last:  thus, 

85  80  87  86  89  40  41  42  43  44 

p,  t,  k,  eh,  f,  th,  s,  sh,  h,  wh. 

Ip,  it,  ik,  ich,  if,  ith,  is,  ish,  ih,  iwh. 

Ep,  et,  ek,  ech,  ef,  eth,  es,  esb,  eh,  ewh. 

Ep,  et,  ek,  ech,  ef,  eth,  es,  esh,  eh,  ewh. 

Ap,  at,  ak,  ach,  af,  ath,  as,  ash,  ah,  awh. 

Op,  ot,  ok,  och,  of,  oth,  OS,  osh,  oh,  owh. 

Up,  ut,  uk,  uch,  uf,  uth,  us,  ush,  uh,  uwh. 

Oop,  oot,  ook,  ooch,  oof,  ooth,  oos,  oosh,  ooh,  oowh. 

In  the  preceding  exercises  each  sound  must  be  expressed 
separately,  with  great  force  and  precision,  before  the  syl- 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  23 

lable  is  given.  On  giving  the  element  by  iiself,  the  student 
bUouM  name  over,  at  least  three  words  in  which  it  occurs: 
thus,  K,  as  in  me,  cue,  and  sea;  M,  as  in  more,  come,  and 
roam;    Sh,  as  in  shame,  hush,  and  crash. 

In  giving  the  syllables,  take  great  pains  to  bring  out  all 
the  sounds  in  a  distinct  and  proper  manner. 


EXERCISE  VIII. 


EXERCISE    UPON    WORDS    CONTAINING     DIFFICULT     COMBINA- 
TIONS  OP   THE   SUBVOCAL   AND   ASPIRATE   SOUNDS. 

First,  give  each  sound  by  itself;  then,  connect  the  first 
element  with  the  second;  next,  give  the  first,  second,  and 
third,  separately ;  then,  in  combination,  at  a  single  utter- 
ance.    Proceed  thus  to  the  end  of  the  word. 

EXAMPLES. 

1)(]  :  Orb'd,  prob'd,  rob'd,  rub'd,  sob'd. 

bdst :  Prob'dst,  fibMst,  dub'dst,  bob'dst,  sob'dst. 

blit  :  Turabl'dst,  fabl'dst,  stabl'dst,  disabl'dst. 

bis:  Stabl's,  fabl's,  nibbl's,  gabbl's,  babbl's. 

br :  Brave,  brown,  break,  breath,  bride. 

dist:  Add'lat,  padd'Ist,  sadd'lst,  pedd'lst,  fidd'lst. 

fldst:  Baffl'dst,  raffl'dst,  shuffl'dst,  muffl'dst. 

gdst :  Beg'dst,  haggl'dst,  bag'dst,  flog'dst. 

kldst:  Tackl'dst,  buckl'dst,  truckl'dst,  twinkl'dst. 

Idst :  Ilold'st,  mold'st,  bold'st,  gild'st. 

mdst :  Tam'dst,  trim'dst,  seem'dst,  dream'dst. 

ndlst:  Hand'lst,  kind'lst,  fond'lst,  trifl'dst. 

ngd :  RangM,  hing'd,  hang'd,  ringed, 

rjd  :  Mcrg'd,  charg'd,  cnlarg'd,  forgM.  ^ 

ridst  :  FnrlMst,  snarl'dst,  whirl'dst,  hurl'dst. 


-4  ELOCUTION. 

rmdst :  Arm'dst,  charm'dst,  form'dst,  storm'dst. 

rndst:  Tum'dst,  lumMst,  scom'dst,  spurn'dst. 

rchd  :  ArchM,  march'd,  search'd,  parch'd. 

ngst:  Ilang'st,  wrong'st,  bring' st,  wing*8t. 

ngth  :  Length,  strength,    ngs :  Songs,  wrongs. 

bdst :  Barb^dst,  prob'dst.    rjd  :  Urg'd,  scourg'd. 

rkdst :  WorkMst,  thank'dst.  plst :  Ripp'lst,  tipplst. 

rnd  :  BumM,  turn'd,  spurned,  warned. 

rvd  :  Curv'd,  swerv'd,  served,  starv'd. 

rtst :  Ilurt'st,  part*8t,  smartest,  report'st. 

skst :  Bask'st,  mask'st,  frisk*st,  kick'st. 

sld  :  Nestl'd,  bristl'd,  wrestl'd,  jostFd. 

Ihd  :  Breath'd,  wreathed,  sheath'd,  bequeathed. 

Ills :  Breath's,  wreath's,  sheath's,  bcqueath's. 

thst :  Wreath'dst,  breath'dst,  sheath'dst,  bequeath'dst.\ 

tld  :  Nettl'd,  setU'd,  battlM,  bottl'd. 

tldst  Nettl'dst,  settrdst,  throtl'dst,  bottl'dst. 

vdst:  Liv'dst,  deceiv'dst,  ^rov'ldst,  believ'dst. 

vldst  :  Drivcrdst,  grovel'dst,  shovel'dst. 

zld  :  Dazz'ld,  muzz'Id,  puzz'ld. 

zldst :  Dazzl'dst,  muzzl'dst,  puzzl'dst. 

zm  :  Chasm,  spasm,     zms  :    Chasms,  spasms. 

nz  :  Pris'n,  ris'n.        znd  :    Impris'nd,  reas'nd. 

znz  :  Seas'ns,  prisons,  znst  :  Impris'nst. 


EXERCISE  IX. 

IN    ANALYSIS. 

Express  with  great  distinctness  and  precision,  the  sounds 
3(rhich   compose    each    letter   of   the    alphabet,   giving   the 


VOCAL     CULTURE.  26 

name  of  each  sound,  and  the  class  to  which  it  belongs: 
thus,  B,  the  first  sound  of  the  letter  B,  is  the  subvocal  B; 
the  second  sound  of  b,  is  the  open  yowel  sound  of  E. 

C,  the  first  sound  of  C  is  the  aspirate  S;  the  second  sound 
is  the  open  vowel  sound  of  E. 

Do  not  go  through  this,  or  any  other  of  the  exercises,  in 
a  careless,  languid  manner;  but  with  as  much  earnestness 
ab  if  something  of  great  importance  depended  upon  your 
doing  it  correctly. 

EXERCISE  X. 

IN  ANALYSIS,  SYLLABICATION,  ACCENT,  AND  PRONUNCIATION. 

Analyze  the  following  words  as  in  Exercise  IX;  then 
express  each  element  singly,  and  with  great  precision ;  next, 
designate  the  accented  syllable,  then  pronounce  the  words 
with  varying  degrees  of  force,  but  always  with  a  sufficient 
degree  to  mark  the  accent  well,  and  to  bring  out  clearly 
and  distinctly  every  syllable  and  every  sound. 

EXAMPLES. 

Personification,  Perpendicularity,  Intercommunication, 

Recapitulation,  Irresistibility,  Incontrovertibly, 

Etyraologically,  Horizontally,  Generalissimo, 

Valetudinarian,  Interrogatively,  Metaphorically, 

Allegorically,  Discrimination,  Emphatically, 

Congratulation,  Nonconformity,  Incomprehensibility. 

The  foregoing  exercises,  if  faithfully  practiced,  according 
to  instructions,  two  or  three  times  a  day,  will,  in  a  few 
weeks,  break  up  the  worst  faults  in  articulation,  and  in- 
crease the  compass,  power,  and  flexibility  of  the  voice,  to  an 
extent  truly  astonishing. 


MODULATION. 

EXERCISE  L 

IS    THE   MONOTONE   MOVEMENT   UPON   THE   OPEN   VOWEL 
SOUNDS. 

Express  each  of  the  monothong  vowel  sounds,  thus:  take 
a  fall  breath  and  utter  each  of  the  sounds  in  succession,  in 


iJt)  ELOCUTION. 

as  pure,  sabdued,  and  yet  distinct  a  tone  as  poseible;  con- 
tinue to  prolong  the  sound  as  directed,  until  the  lungs 
are  nearly  emptied,  then  let  it  gradually  die  away  into 
silence. 

In  your  first  efforts  in  this  movement,  give  the  sounds  in 
your  natural  key,  or  pitch  of  voice,  when  you  can  give  them 
orrectly  on  that  key;  then  practice  upon  them,  sometimes 
in  a  higher,  and  sometimes  in  a  lower  pitch,  increasing  the 
force  or  loudness  as  much  as  you  please,  so  that  the  tone 
of  the  voice  is  kept  clear  and  resonant. 

Whenever,  on  changing  the  pitch  or  increasing  the  force, 
the  voice  runs  into  a  thin,  aspirated,  guttural,  or  disagree- 
able tone  of  any  kind,  stop  at  once,  and  rest  until  you  feel 
perfectly  at  ease.  Then  carefully  begin  again  in  your 
conversational  pitch  and  tone  of  voice. 

Above  every  thing  else  be  sure  you  keep  the  tone  pure 
and  resonant. 

The  chiefs  difl&culty  the  student  will  experience  in  this 
and  some  other  of  the  vocal  exercises,  is  that  of  keeping 
the  throat  and  mouth  wide  enough  open. 

Unless  the  pupil  is  very  mindful  of  the  conditions  to  be 
observed,  he  will  gradually  close  the  mouth,  until  the  teeth 
are  brought  close  together,  before  the  sound  is  finished,  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  which  is  a  smothered,  imperfect, 
and  lifeless  utterance  of  the  syllable  or  word.  A  liberal 
opening  of  the  mouth  is  a  condition  absolutely  indispensable 
in  giving  the  voice  the  full  effect  of  round,  smooth,  and 
agreeable  tone. 

This  common  and  very  bad  habit  of  reading,  speaking, 
and  singing  with  the  throat  and  mouth  almost  closed,  may 
be  entirely  broken  up  by  vocalizing,  for  a  short  time  every 
day,  with  a  gag  in  the  mouth,  according  to  the  following 
directions: 

Cut  a  piece  of  hard  wood,  the  thickness  of  a  pipe  stem, 
and  about  an  inch  in  length ;  place  this  perpendicularly 
between  the  teeth,  and  proceed  to  vocalize,  in  any  pitch 
within  the  compass  of  your  voice,  and  with*  as  much  force 
OS  you  can  command.  Let  the  gag  remain  in  its  place  until 
the  jaw  aches  considerably,  before  you  remove  it. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  J7 

Practice  with  a  gag  about  an  inch  long,  two  or  three 
limes  a  day,  for  several  minutes  at  a  time,  until  you  can 
keep  the  mouth  thus  far  open  without  any  difficulty.  After- 
ward cut  another  about  an  inch  and  a  half  in  length,  and 
practice  with  it  between  the  teeth,  until  you  can  vocalize 
with  it  in  the  mouth  for  three  minutes  at  a  time,  without 
experiencing  any  very  disagreeable  feeling.  Then  cut 
another,  still  longer,  and  practice  with  that  in  the  same 
manner. 


EXERCISE  II. 

THE   SWELL   OR   MEDIUM  STRESS. 

Place  the  breathing  apparatus  in  a  proper  condition,  and 
utter  each  of  the  open  vowel  sounds,  thus : 

Commence  the  sound  in  a  very  subdued  tone,  which 
gradually  increase  or  swell  out,  until  the  sound  is  full  and 
deep;  then  let  it  as  gradually  diminish  in  force,  until  it 
vanishes  with  a  sound  so  light  and  delicate  that  the  ear 
can  scared}'  distinguish  its  close. 

The  words  marked  in  capitals,  in  the  accompanying  ex- 
Rmples,  must  be  given  with  the  prolonged  swell. 

The  pupil  must  exercise  his  own  judgment  as  to  the  de- 
gree offeree  to  be  employed:  his  aim  ouglit  to  be  to  bring 
out  the  sense  and  sentiment  of  the  whole  passage,  in  an 
appropriate  and  effective  manner. 

EXAMPLES. 
1.  Dut  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 
With  cares  and  sorrows  worn, 
Then  age  and  want,  On!    ill-matched  pairl 
Show  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

li.  Woe  unto  thee,  Cliorazint  Wob  unto  thee,  Bethsaidal  for  if  ihi 
mighty  things  which  were  done  in  you,  had  been  done  in  Tyre  und 
Ridon,  they  would  have  repented  long  ago,  in  sackcloth  and  in  ashes 

8.  An  I   then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  gathering  tkars,  and  tremblings  of  distrow 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which,  but  an  hour  ago, 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  lovelineM. 


i.?5  ELOCUTION. 

4.  On!   sacred  Tiuth, thy  triumphs  ceased  awhile, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  tlieo  to  smile. 

6.  An  I   why  will  Kings  forget  that  they  are  men, 
And  men  that  they  are  brethren  I 

0.  Oa!  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that  [  might  fly  away 
and  be  at  rest  I 

7.  Oh  for  a  iongut  to  curse  the  slave, 

Whose  treason,  like  a  poison  blight, 
Comes  o'er  the  counsels  of  the  brave, 
And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might  I 

THE   WAVE. 

In  the  wave,  which  is  a  form  of  the  swell,  the  v(»icc  risei 
aud  then  falls,  or  falls  and  then  rises,  while  the  force  is 
increasing  or  diminishing.  The  modifications  of  the  swell 
and  the  wave  are  innumerable. 


EXERCISE  III. 

IN    THE    EXPULSIVE    RADICAL   STRESS. 

Express  in  a  clear,  full,  affirmative  tone,  in  the  order  m 
vhieh  they  are  arranged  upon  the  chart,  the  words  con- 
*^ining  examples  of  the  open  vowel  sounds,  as  follows : 

First,  pronounce  each  word  as  if  in  answer  to  a  question 
addressed  to  jou  by  a  person  but  a  short  distance  from 
you,  using  the  words  /  said,  in  connection  with  the  word. 
[  Baid  me.  Between  the  words  said  and  wie,  take  a  short 
breath,  and  draw  the  abdominal  muscles  well  back,  that 
you  may  be  enabled  to  bring  out  the  word  me  with  proper 
force  and  quantity. 

Continue  in  this  manner  to  utter  the  words  with  iu- 
areasing  force  and  earnestness;  but  be  careful  to  keep  the 
voiee  down,  and  avoid  every  thing  like  a  tone  of  excitement. 

Exemplify  the  Expulsive  Radical  Stress,  on  the  wards 
iLarked  in  the  following  examples. 

1.  Rise!    fathers,  Rise! — 'tis  Rome  demands  your  help. 

2.  Hold  !  hold  for  your  lives ! 

'i.  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 


VOCAL     CULTURE.  29 

4.  Who  PARES  to  FLY  from  yonder  sword — he  cries, 
Who  DARES  to  TREMBLK,  by  this  weapon,  dim. 

6.  To  ABMsl   to  ARMS  I    to  ARMS  I   thcy  cry. 

6.  Awake!   arise!   or  be  forever  fallen. 

7.  Roll  on!   thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  roll. 

Most  of  the  preceding  examples  require  the  intensive 
form  of  the  Expulsive  Radical  Stress,  to  give  them  with 
proper  effect. 


EXERCISE  IV. 

EXPLOSIVE    RADICAL   STRESS. 

Inflate  the  lungs,  and,  as  it  were,  bar  up  the  breath  in 
the  throat,  keep  the  abdominal  muscles  drawn  back  tight, 
then  by  the  sudden,  vigorous  action  of  every  part,  cause 
the  sound  to  burst  forth  with  the  utmost  abruptness  and 
with  the  highest  degree  of  energy.  First,  give  each  of  the 
vowel  sounds  in  this  manner,  then  select  a  number  of 
words,  such  as  slave,  wretch,  coward,  as  in  the  passage, 
"Thou  SLAVE,  thou  WRETCH,  thou  COWARD  I"  and  prac- 
tice upon  these  words  and  sounds,  with  varying  degrees  of 
force,  but  always  with  a  well  marked  radical  stress. 

Give  the  following  examples  with  proper  spirit.  Let  the 
emphatic  words  be  brought  out  with  great  abruptness  and 
intense  force.  Take  care  to  keep  the  voice  within  its 
range ;  if  you  let  it  spring  into  a  very  high  pitch,  you  will 
be  unable  to  control  it. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Thy  threats,  thy  mercies  I  DEtrt 
And  give  thee,  in  thy  tekth,  the  lib! 

2.  I  LOATHE  you  with  my  bosom; 

I  8C0R.V  you  with  mine  eye; 
ril  TAUNT  you  with  my  latest  breath, 
And  riQHT  you  till  I  die! 

S.  Down  soothless  insultcri 


80  ELOCUTION. 

4.  Aud  if  thou  sayst  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Highland  or  Lowland,  far  or  near, 
Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied  I 

5.  Go  from  my  sight!     I  bate  and  I  despisk  thee  I 
G.  RorsB,  ye  Romans!     Rouse,  ye  slaves! 
7    He  DABBS  not  touch  a  hahi  of  Cataline. 

8.  Strike!    till  the  last  ann'd  foe  expires. 
Strike!   for  your  altars  and  your  fires, 
Strike!   for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
God — and  your  native  land. 


EXERCISE  V. 


EXPLOSIVE   SHORT   VOCALS. 

The  mode  of  expressing  these  sounds  is  the  same  as  Id 
the  Explosive  Radical  Stress,  with  this  slight  difference:  in 
the  explosive  short  vocals  the  sound  continues  but  an  in- 
stant, while  in  the  Explosive  Radical  Stress  the  vanishing 
sound  is  always  heard,  and  sometimes  greatly  prolonged. 

Pronounce  the  words  marked  in  the  following  passages 
with  the  utihost  explosive  force,  and  in  a  tone  of  passionate 
excitement.  Practice,  in  this  form  of  stress,  upon  the 
short  vocals,  singly,  in  syllables,  and  upon  words  until 
you  can  utter  any  of  them  in  the  middle,  low,  or  high 
pitch  of  the  voice,  with  that  percussive  force,  that  may  be 
compared  to  the  crack  of  a  rifle. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Whence  and  what  art  thou?    Execrable  shape! 

2.  Back  to  thy  punishment,  false  fugitive ! 

3.  Fret,  till  your  proud  heart  breaks! 

4.  Hexce  !    HOUE 1    ye  idle  creatures !    get  you  home. 

6.  You  BLOCKS — ^you  stones — you  worse  than  senselMS  things. 

6.  Up  comrades,  up! — in  Rokeby's  halls, 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 

7.  If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge  1 


VOCAL    OJLTURB.  31 

VANISHINQ    8TKESS. 

The  vanishing  stress  begins  with  a  light  and  gentle  sound, 
which  gradually  increases  in  volume,  and  suddenly  tcrnii- 
nates  with  a  heavy  and  violent  sound.  This  form  of  stress 
but  seldom  occurs  in  speech. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  exercises  for  strengthening  the 
voice,  but  the  student  must  have  forcible  examples  of  it 
from  the  living  teacher,  before  he  can  understand  it  suf- 
ficiently well  to  practice  upon  it  with  any  decided  advan- 
tage. 

The  pupil  should  practice  regularly  and  frequently,  upon 
the  elementary  sounds,  on  words,  and  on  short  passages  in 
2very  form  of  stress,  and  in  the  lowest  pitch  of  voice  in 
which  he  can  command  a  clear,  full  tone. 


EXERCISE  VI. 


LAUGHING    EXERCISE   ON   THE    VOWEL   SOUNDS. 

Put  on  a  mirthful  look,  draw  back  the  corners  of  the 
mouth,  as  in  laughter,  and  laugh  out  successively  each  of 
the  short  vocal  sounds.  Let  the  tone  of  voice  be  subdued, 
and  the  movement  slow,  at  first,  but  rapidly  increase,  then 
diminish  the  degree  of  force  and  rapidity  with  which  the 
sounds  are  uttered. 

Occasionally  intersperse  the  exercises  with  one  of  the 
open  vowel  sounds,  expressed  with  long  quantity.  In  this 
manner  you  will  relieve  yourself,  and  be  enabled  to  utter 
the  sounds  more  like  those  which  are  heard  on  the  spon- 
taneous breaking  forth  of  real  laughter. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  the  vocal  exeroisos, 
whether  considered  with  reference  to  the  deepening  and 
mellowing  of  the  voice,  which  results  from  it,  or  frum  the 
itrengthening  and  invigorating  effect  it  has  upon  the  throat 
and  lungs.  It  is  highly  promotive  alike  of  health  of  body 
and  cheerfulness  of  mind.  It  should,  however,  be  conducted 
with  great  moderation  at  first.  As  soon  as  the  pupil  begins 
to  feel  somewhat  exhausted  by  his  efforts,  he  should  rest 
awhile. 


82  ELOCUTION 

EXERCISE   VIL 

IN    Tin     !\il  IIIIUUATIVE   AND   AFFIKMATIVE   TONES, 

Take  t:  sounds  in  the  order  in  which  they  occui 

ujx'ii    ill.  .('ginning  with   E,   and    ask    tlie    (iiu,'sti:.ri 

Did  l/uii  i  ,,  J..  Ill  your  natural  t(uie,  and  iiiaruicr  ol"  ask- 
ing a  question;  then  answer  tin  4iusiion  affirmatively,  thus: 
Fe«,  1  said  E. 

In  the  qiipsii..ii  K  t  the  voice  glide  into  a  higher  pitch 
on  t:  lit,  or  syllable  which  is  the  subject  of  experi- 

inrni.  in  iiie  affirmation  let  the  voice  fall  into  a  lower 
pitch,  and  take  a  deeper,  fuller  tone. 

Use  the  words,  Did  you  say?  and  l^es,  1  s</i,l :  in  con- 
nection with  the  .1.  111.  tit  syllable,  or  word,  until  you  no 
longer    nird    i!m  i  ide  you   to   distinguish   the   true 

sound  of  the  interrogative  or  the  affirmative  tones.  When 
you  can  readily  do  this,  then  illustrate  both  ♦ones  on  the 
same  word,  thus : 

Questioji.     Cincinnati?  Aru.     Cincinnati. 

"  Gen.  Washington  ?  "       Gen.  Washington. 

"  Constantinople?  "       Constantinople. 

"  A?  "        A.     &c. 

Continue  to  increase  the  force  and  earnestness,  in  exem- 
plifying these  tones,  until  you  have  a  perfect  control  of 
them. 


KXERCISE   yill. 

IN    THE   TONE    OF   SURPRISE. 

Commence  as  if  about  to  ask  a  question,  but  let  the 
coice  run  up  rapidly,  on  the  principal  syllable,  or  word, 
into  a  very  high  key,  and  terminate  with  great  abruptness. 

Puttinjr  on  the  look  and  appearance,  which  are  charac 
oristic  of  the  emotion,  will  greatly  aid  you  in  bringing  out 
the  true  sound. 


EXERCISE   IX.    • 
Express    the    following    examples    slowly,    at    first,    and 
gradually  increase  the  rate  of  utterance.     Pronounce  every 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  M 

wcrd  and  syllable,  clearly,  distinctly,  and  with  the  utmost 
rapidity. 

Whenever  you  discover  that  there  is  the  least  indistinct^ 
ness,  or  that  the  words  or  syllables  run  into  each  other, 
stop  and  commence  again,  more  slowly  and  carefully. 

Give  the  examples  in  every  pitch,  within  the  compass  of 
your  voice,  and  with  varying  degrees  of  force,  from  the 
suppressed  whisper,  up  to  the  loudest  tone  you  can  com'- 
mand. 

BXAMPLES. 

1.  The  steadfast  stranger  through  the  forest  strayed. 

2.  Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostrils  wide. 
8.  Round  the  rude  ring  the  ragged  rascals  ran. 

4.  The  wild  beasts  struggled  through  the  thickest  shade. 

6.  The  swinging  swain  swifUy  swept  the  swinging  sweep. 

6.  Execrable  Xantippe  exhibited  extraordinary  and  excessive 
irritability. 

"*  Six  brave  maids  sat  on  six  broad  beds,  and  braided  broad 
braid&. 

8.  The  Binpling  stranger  strayed  through  the  struggling  stream 

9.  The  rough  and  rugged  rocks  rear  their  hoary  heads  high  on  the 
heath. 

10.  Peter  Prickle  Prangle  picked  three  pecks  of  prickly  pears, 
ftpom  three  prickly,  prangly  pear  trees. 

11.  Up  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone. 

12.  Amidst  the  mists  and  coldest  frosts, 
With  barest  wrists  and  stoutest  boasts, 
He  thrusts  his  fists  against  the  posts, 
And  s^.ni  in»IsLs  he  sees  the  ghosts. 

13.  IHfc    I  AiARACT   OP    LODORB. 

How  does  the  water 
Come  down  at  Lodore? 

From  its  sources  which  well 

In  the  tarn  on  Uie  fell;  \ 

From  its  fountains 

In  Uie  mountains, 
Its  rills  and  its  gills; 


'1  LLuuLliuN. 

Through  moss  and  through  brakv 
It  runs  and  it  creeps, 
For  a  while,  till  it  sleeps 

In  its  own  little  lake. 
And  thence  at  departing, 
Awakening  and  starting, 
It  runs  through  the  reeds, 
And  away  it  proceeds, 
Through  meadow  and  glade; 
In  sun  and  in  shade, 
And  through  the  wood-shelter, 

Among  crags  in  its  flurry, 
Helter-skelter, 

Hurry-skurry. 

Here  it  comes  sparkling. 
And  there  it  lies  darkling; 
Now  smoking  and  frothing 
Its  tumult  and  wrath  in. 
Till,  in  this  rapid  race. 

On  which  it  is  bent, 
It  reaches  the  place 

Of  its  steep  descent. 

The  cataract  strong 
Then  plunges  along, 
Striking  and  raging, 
As  if  a  war  waging 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among: 
Spouting  and  frisking, 
Turning  and  twisting, 
Around  and  around 
With  endless  rebound: 
Smiting  and  fighting, 
A  sight  to  delight  in, 
Confounding,  astounding, 
Dixxying  and  deafening  the  ear  with  its  souna. 

Retreating  and  beating  and  meeting  and  sheeting, 
Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and  spraying, 
Advancing  and  prancing  and  glancing  and  dancing. 
And  gleaming  and  streaming  and  steaming  and  beaming, 
And  dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and  clashing, 
And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 
Sounds  and  motions  forever  and  ever  are  blending. 
All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar: 
And  this  way,  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  35 

The  pupil  should  carefully  practice  the  various  exercises 
upon  the  elementary  sounds,  and  in  articulation,  until  he 
can  utter  every  sound,  syllable,  word,  or  combination  of 
elements,  with  perfect  distinctness  and  accuracy,  and  in  a 
clear,  full  tone  of  voice. 

Much  advantage  may  be  obtained  from  practicing  in  com- 
pany with  some  one,  who  is  competent  to  detect  your  faults 
of  utterance  and  delivery,  and  is  willinpj  to  point  them  out. 

The  monotone,  swell,  and  all  the  different  forms  of  stress, 
should  be  practiced  in  every  pitch  of  voice,  and  in  every 
degree  of  force. 

To  obtain  a  full,  deep,  clear,  rich  tone,  the  student  must 
resort  to  every  conceivable  expedient  for  modifying  the 
voice.  Whenever  he  utters  a  sound  that  is  very  pleasing 
to  the  ear,  or  that  impresses  his  mind  as  being  very  strik- 
ing or  significant,  he  should  repeat  it,  until  he  can  com- 
mand it  without  difficulty  at  pleasure. 

The  most  significant,  impressive,  and  pleasing  tones  of 
the  voice  can  not  be  taught,  or  even  described;  the  pupil, 
if  he  ever  learns  them,  must  find  them  out  for  himself,  by 
careful,  persevering  self  practice.  In  short,  he  must  try 
every  plan,  and  resort  to  every  appliance  that  he  can  com- 
mand, in  his  endeavors  to  perfect  himself  in  the  art  of 
reading  and  speaking  with  ease,  elegance,  and  impressive 
effect. 


EXPRESSION. 

Expression  comprehends  the  practical  application  of  all 
the  rules  and  principles  of  Elocution. 


EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis  relates  to  the  mode  of  giving  expression; 
properly  and  fully  defined  it  includes  whatever  modulntioD 
of  the  voice  or  expedient  the  speaker  may  use,  to  render 
what  he  says  significant  or  expressive  of  the  meaning  he 
desires  to  convey. 


OO  ELOCUTION. 

No  certain  rules  can  be  given  to  guide  the  student  io 
the  employinrnt  of  oninl.nsi<s  Jf  ]iw  y.^'mQ  jjg  fu||  clear 
flexil.h  .  he  will   be  able 

to  express  whut  he  luUy  uudcibtaiiils  uiiJ  stronu'ly  feels, 
in  an  effrctivo  man  nor.  withont  the  aid  of  rules.  The  best 
advi.  ,,  tiiig  point,  is 

to  BlU"i>  jii>  Miitji-ri  uiiiii  lie  tnorougjiiy  uiiderstawds  it, 
and  then  practice  upon  it  until  he  can  express  it  lo  his 
own  satisfaction. 

A  careful  observance  of  the  following  simple  directions, 
will  soon  enable  the  student  to  read  in  a  pleasing  and  im- 
pressive manner. 

F1R.ST: — Pause  long  enough  to  take  a  short  breath,  just 
before  giving  an  emphatic  word. 

Second: — Pause  for  a  moment  immediately  after  giving 
an  emphatic  word,  letting  the  voice  fall  in  pitch,  and  take 
a  more  subdued  tone  on  the  words  iinuKdiatcly  following. 

Third  : — When  emphasis  is  given  by  simply  increasing 
the  loudness,  or  duration  of  the  accented  syllable,  let  the 
voice  out  freely,  and  do  no*  rlie   sound   before   it  is 

fully   '       '     rd. 

Fo;  After  expressing  a  word  or  syllable  with  great 

force,  as  in  the  intensive  forms  of  the  Expulsive  or  Explo- 
sive Radical  Stress,  do  — *  '-^^p  the  muscles  of  the  neck, 
throat,  and  tlit>t  in   i  rigid  condition  they  are  in 

at  the  moment  of  giving  the  emphatic  word;  but,  instantly, 
let  them  relax    mjkI  fnll  into  a  natural  and  easy  position. 

Let  me  her.  the  student  who   intends   to   pursue 

this  sul'joet.  not  to  pass  lightly  over  the  first  exercises  be- 
cause they  are  simple  and  unattractive.  Success  in  giving 
the  most  difiicult  passages,  will  chiefly  depend  upon  a  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  the  principles  involved  in  the  correct 
nunciation  of  short  and  simple  sentences.  As  in  Articu 
.ation  and  3Iodulation,  the  student  should  begin  with  the 
first  example  under  the  first  rule,  and  thoroughly  master 
fhaf^  before  he  takes  up  the  next. 


VOCAL  CULTURE.  37 

CADENCE. 

Cadence  signifies  that  easy,  natural  dropping  of  the  voice 
at  the  end  of  a  sentence  or  passage,  which  denotes  com- 
f»lcteness  of  sense,  or  that  the  speaker  has  finished  what 
he  had  to  say  upon  that  point. 

No  specific  rules  can  be  given  by  which  to  regulate  the 
tone  and  movement  of  the  voice  in  making  the  cadence; 
the  pupil  must  rely,  mainly,  upon  his  own  taste  and  dis- 
LTimination,  After  a  few  days'  careful  practice  of  the  fol- 
lowing exercises,  his  ear  will  detect  the  slightest  variation 
from  the  true  sound  of  the  cadence. 


EXERCISE   I. 
The  simplest  form  of  the  cadence  can  be  best  illustrated 
by  the  enumeration  of  a  series  of  particulars. 

By  counting  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  in  a  deliberate 
manner,  and  paying  particular  attention  to  the  tone  of  the 
voice  on  four  and  jive^  it  will  be  discovered  that  on  jive^  the 
voice  falls  a  little,  takes  a  fuller  tone,  and  has  that  pecu- 
liar intonation  which  denotes  that  the  enumeration  is 
complete. 

EXAMPLES. 
1    1,2,3^   1,2,3,4^    1,2,3,4,5,6^   1,2,3,4,5,6,7^ 
4.  6.  7.  8. 

Give  the  open  vowel  sounds  in  a  clear,  full  tone,  in  the 
•>auie  manner  as  in  the  first  example,  thus: 

Aw  0,  E,  I,  Oi  I,  01,  E,  A,  Aw 

0.  Ow.  U. 

Give  a  number  of  names  in  succession  as  in  calling  the 
oil,  thus: 

3.  Smith,  Chambers,  Buttorfield,  Edmunds,  Morgan,  Wilson,  Page, 
Jones.  ^ 

Connect  the  last  two  names  or  particulars  by  the  con- 
jviurtion  and^  letting  tho  i  liitK   on  the  last  pax 


88  ELOCUTION. 

ticular  but  one,  and  fall,  aa  in  the  previous  examples  on 
the  last  one,  thus:  .»•■ 

4.  Cincinnati,  St  Louis,  Boston,  Louisyille,  Philadelphia,  v 

hot  the  cadence  in  the  following  passages  be  formed  in 
the  same  manner  as  in  example  4. 

6.  He  sinlcs  into  thy  depths  with  bubbliug  groan. 
Without  a  grave,  unknelUd^  uncoJjivLd^  and  unhiou 

6.  Whatever  obscurities  may  involve  religious  tenet  nee 

\  'i  3 

of  true  piety  consists  in  humility ^  love,  and  devotion. 

7.  Be  armed  with  courage  against  thyself,  against  thy  pcusioru, 
and  against  flatterers. 

8.  In  the  least  insect  there  are  muxelei.  nerves,  ioinLy  vnnx.  artfrieg, 
6 

and  blood. 

When  the  concluding  series  consists  of  more  than  three 
members  or  particulars,  the  preceding  members  or  partic- 
ulars should  receive  the  modulation  which  tasts  and  the 
general  sense  of  the  passage  suggest. 


EXERCISE  II. 

THE     COMMENCINO     SERIES. 

In  the  commencing  series  the  last  particular  or  member, 
should  take  the  rising  modulation,  and  the  las*  but  one,  a 
slight  falling  modulation. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  The  knowledge,  power,  wisdom,  holiness,  and  goodnes%  of  the  Deity 
re  all  unbounded. 

2.  Gold,  silver,  copper,  iron,  and  lead  are  abundant  in  various 
parts  of  the  Western  Continent. 

3.  Proofs  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  may  justly  be  drawn 
from  the  nature  of  the  Supreme  Being,  whose  justice,  wisdom,  and 
veracity,  are  all  concerned  in  this  great  point. 

Immediately  after  expressing   the    last    particular,  pause 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  39 

for  a  moment  and  let  the  voice  drop  into  its  ordinary  pitch 
and  tone,  upon  the  words  that  follow. 


EXERCISE  III. 
The  student  should  practice  upon  each  of  the  following 
xamples  until   Ije  can   exemplify  the   rule  involved,  and 
bring  out  the  sense  in  the   fullest,  most  pleasing,  and  most 
impressive  manner. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Diligence,  industry,  and  proper  improvement  of  their  time,  are 
material  duties  of  the  young. 

2.  He  is  generous,  just,  charitable,  and  humane. 

3.  In  meat  and  drink  observe  the  rules  of  Christian  temperance 
and  sobriety. 

4.  If  you  would  be  revenged  on  your  enemies,  let  your  life  be 
blameless. 

5.  Ingratitude  is  a  crime  so  shameful,  that  the  man  was  never 
yet  found  who  would  acknowledge  himself  guilty  of  it, 

6.  As  you  value  the  approbation  of  heaven  or  the  esteem  of  the 
world,  cultivate  the  love  of  virtue. 

7.  The  earth  is  adorned  witJi  a  beautiful  variety  of  mountains, 
hills,  valleys,  plains,  seas,  lakes,  rivers,  trees,  flowers,  plants,  and 
animals. 

8.  Luxury,  vanity,  and  pride,  have  much  influence  in  corrupting 
the  opinions  of  the  multitude. 

9.  Make  a  proper  use  of  your  time,  for  the  loss  of  it  can  never 
be  retrieved. 

10.  Envy  not  the  appearance  of  happiness  in  any  man;    for  you 
know  not  his  secret  griefs. 

11.  The  shadow  of  knowledge  passeth  over  the  mind  of  man  as  a 
dream;  he  seeth  as  in  the  dark;  he  reasoncth  and  is  deceived. 

12.  Do  not  insult  a  poor  man;  his  misery  entitles  him  to  pity. 

18.  A  tear  is  sometimes  the  indication  of  a  noble  mind:  Jesus 
wept 

14.  Every  thing  grows  old;  every  thing  passes  away;  >rrery  thing 
disappears. 

15.  A  talkative  man  i«  a  nuisance  to  society;  the  ev  \m  tiok  «f 
bis  babbling. 


40  ELOCUTION. 

16.  Fear  God:  He  is  thy  Creator  and  Uiy  Preserrer. 

17.  When  the  battle  was  ended,  the  stranger  disappeared,  and  no 
person  knew  whence  he  had  come,  or  whither  he  had  gone. 

18.  It  is  not  the  use  of  the  innocent  amusements  of  life  which  is 
dangerous,  but  the  abuse  of  them;  it  is  not  when  they  arc  occa- 
sionallj,  but  when  thejr  are  constantlj  pursued,  tliat  tluy  bcccm# 
an  evil. 

19.  Some  men  are  intent  upon  gathering  riches;   others  enrlcavor 
Ui  acquire  reputation  and  honor;   a  third  sort  are  deroted 
pleasures;  while  but  few  are  engaged  in  the  nobler  pursuits  < 

ing  and  wibdom. 

20.  Truth  is  the  basis  of  erery  virtue;  it  is  the  voice  of  reason; 
let  its  precepts  be  religiously  obeyed;  never  transgress  its  limits. 
Every  deviation  from  truth  is  criminal.  Abhor  a  falsehood.  Let 
your  words  be  ingenuous. 

21.  Sincerity  possesses  the  most  powerful  charm.  It  acquires  the 
veneration  of  mankind;  its  path  is  security  and  peace. 


EXERCISE  IV. 

PARENTHESIS. 

In  the  following  examples,  read  the  first  part  of  eacn 
sentcmc  in  a  manner  suited  to  the  nature  of  the  subject, 
and  make  a  short  pause  just  before  the  parenthesis,  which 
read  more  rapidly,  and  in  a  more  subdued  tone.  When  the 
parenthesis  is  concluded,  resume  your  former  pitch  and  tone 
of  voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Know  then  this  truth,  (enough  for  man  to  know,) 
Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below. 

2.  I  have  seen  charity  (if  charity  it  may  be  called)  insult  with 
as  air  of  pity. 

3.  I  am  happy,  said  he  (expressing  himself  with  the  wannest 
emotion),  infinitely  happy,  in  seeing  you  return. 

4.  Surely  in  this  age  of  invention,  something  may  be  struck 
out  to  obviate  the  necessity  (if  such  necessity  exist)  of  so  tasking 
the  human  intellect. 

5.  Know  ye  not,  brethren  (for  I  speak  to  them  that  know  the 
law),  that  the  law  hath  dominion  over  a  man  as  long  as  he  liveth? 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  41 

C.  It  is  Uiia  sense  which  furnishes  the  imagination  with  idco^i 
BO  that  by  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  or  fancy  (terms  which 
1  shall  use  promiscuously),  I  here  mean  such  as  arise  from  yisibU 
objects. 


EXERCISE   V. 

THE    RHETORICAL  PAUSE. 


The  Rhetorical  Pause  consists  in  suspending  the  voice 
e«ther  directly  before  or  after  the  utterance  of  an  important 
thought.  The  pause  before  the  principal  word  awakens 
curiosity  and  excites  expectation ;  after,  it  carries  the  mind 
back  to  what  has  already  been  said. 

Pauses  occur  as  often  where  points  are  not  found  as 
where  they  are.  Sense  and  sentiment  are  the  best  guides 
in  the  use  of  the  pause.  The  student  must  remember  that 
every  important  modulation,  in  order  to  preserve  its  due 
force  and  distinctness,  requires  to  be  followed  by  a  consid- 
erable pause. 

A  pause  of  greater  or  less  duration  is  always  required 
wherever  an  interruption  occurs  in  the  progress  of  thought, 
or  the  uniform  construction  of  the  sentence,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  dash,  the  exclamation,  the  parenthesis,  &c.  In  these 
instances  the  mind  is  supposed  to  be  arrested  by  the  sudden 
change  of  sentiment  or  passion. 

EXAMPLES. 
1.     But  this  very  day, 

An  honest  man,  my  neighbor — there  he  stands — 
Was  struck — struck  like  a  dog — ^by  one  who  wore 
The  badge  of  Ursini. 

%     Here  will  I  hold.    If  there's  a  power  above  as, 
(And  that  tlicre  is,  all  nature  cries  aloud 
Through  all  her  works,)  he  must  delight  in  virtue: 
And  that  wliich  ho  delights  in  must  be  happy. 
But  when?  or  where? — This  world  was  made  for  Cssear 
I'm  weary  of  conjectures — this  must  end  them. 

3.    Slaves  to  a  horde 

Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despotet  lords, 

Rich  in  some  dosen  paltry  villages-^ 
Kinn       I 


42 

Strong  in  some  buudrcd  spearmcD— only  great 
In  thai  strange  spell — a  name. 

4.    Thej  fought  like  brave  men — long  and  well; 
They  piled  the  ground  with  Moslem  slain; 
They  conquered — but  Botzaris  fell, 
Bleeding  at  every  vein. 

6.    0  THOU  Eternal  One!  whose  pre8euce  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide. 

Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  flight; 
Thou  only  God!     There  is  no  God  beside  I 

Being  above  all  beings!     Mighty  one! 
Whom  none  can  comprehend,  and  none  explore: 

Who  fiU'st  existence  with  thyself  a\one] 
Embracing  all — supporting — ruling  o'er — 
Being  whom  we  call  God! — and  know  no  more 

6.  Some— -plaee  the  bliss  in  action,  some — in  ease; 
Those  call  it  pleasure,  and— contentment,  these. 

7.  Stand  up — erect!     Thou  hast  the  form 

And  likeness  of  thy  God! — Who  more? 
A  soul  as  dauntless  'mid  the  storm 
Of  daily  life,  a  heart  a*s  warm 

And  pure  as  breast  e'er  wore. 

8.    Hush! — Hark  I — a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell. 

9.  We  are  some  of  us  very  fond  of  knowledge,  and  apt  to  value 
oui-selvcs  upon  any  proficiency  in  the  sciences.  One  science  there 
is.  worth  more  than  all  the  rest,  and  that  is — tk^  science  of  living  toell. 

10.  Heaven  and  earth  will  witness, 

If — Rome  must  fall — ^that  we  are  innocent 

11.  He  woke — to  die  mid  flame  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre  stroke. 

12.  Thou  art  thyself  thine  enemy: 

The  great! — what  better  they  than  thou? 
As  theirs  is  not  thy  will  as  free? 
Has  God  with  equal  favors  thee 
Neglected  to  endow? 

True,  wealth  thou  hast  not — ^"tis  but  dust: 
Nor  place — ancertain  as  the  wind; 


VOCAL     OULTURB.  48 

But  that  thou  hast,  which  with  thy  crust 
And  water  may  despise  the  lust 
Of  both — a  noble  mind. 


EXERCISE  VI. 

ON   SHORT   QUESTIONS. 

^/"press  the  following  examples  with  the  same  earnest- 
n»«s  of  tone,  and  directness  of  manner,  which  you  would 
use  if  the  questions  were  your  own,  and  you  felt  deeply 
interested  in  the  answer  you  might  receive. 

(s  Johii  &t  home? 

Are  you  still  living  with  your  father? 

Do  you  think  he  is  honest? 

Are  the  people  willing? 

Whither  are  you  going? 

How  many  books  have  you  bought? 

Why  did  you  not  go  m  Boston? 

When  shall  I  see  you  again? 

Who  told  you  that  I  was  sick? 

Whose  dog  is   that? 

What  excuse  have  you  for  coming  so  late  this  morning? 

Did  he  say  that  he  would  do  it? 

How  many  bushels  have  you? 

Who  can  view  such  misery  without  pity? 

Have  you  seen  Joseph  yet? 


EXERCISE  VII. 
ON   VARIOUS   FORMS   OP  INTERROQATION  AND  AFFIRMATfON 
Was  his  progress  quick  or  slow? 
It  was  slow,  very  slow. 
Did  he  pitch  his  voice  high  or  low? 
He  pitched  it  high,  never  higher. 
Do  you  read  Greek  or  Latin? 
I  have  long  read  Latin,  never  Greek. 
Did  they  confess  or  deny? 
They  confessed  and  were  merely  rebuked. 
How  does  your  friend  look?  well  or  ill? 
Well;  he  never  looked  better. 
How  did  he  move?  graoeftilly? 
Graceftillyl     Yes — m  he  always  do««. 


44  1.  i,uL  I  TION. 

Was  the  priie  merited  or  not? 

It  was — at  least  all  tliought  so. 

Who  delirered  the  message?  he  or  his  brother? 

He;  his  brother  is  from  home. 

Is  the  stream  wide  or  narrow? 

Very  narrow— especially  near  its  source. 

Straight  or  circuitous? 

Partly  straight  and  partly  circuitous. 

And  its  banks — rugged? 

Ves;  but  quite  accessible,  and  highly  picturesque. 

His  speech  was  not  read — it  was  delirered? 

It  was  well  delivered. 

And  well  received? 

With  enthusiasm — if  the  applause  it  obtained  is  the  teti 

The  subject  was  interesting? 

Yes,  and  is  rather  popular  at  present 

Did  he  speak  long?     An  hour  perhaps? 

Longer — two  hours — three  hours. 

And  was  well  received,  you  say? 

Enthusiastically — applauded  throughout. 

He  made  an  impression  then? 

I  should  think  so — at  least  upon  some. 

Then  he  is  likely  to  succeed? 

Succeed  1     Yes — if  he  chooses  to  exert  himself. 

The  Past— where  is  it?     It  has  fled. 

The  Future?    It  may  never  come. 
Our  friends  departed?     With  the  dead. 

Ourselves?     Fast  hastening  to  the  tomb. 
What  are  earth's  joys?     The  dews  of  morn. 

Its  honors?     Ocean's  wreathing  foam. 
Where's  peace?     In  trials  meekly  borne. 

And  joy?     In  Heaven — the  Christian's  home. 


EXERCISE   VIII. 


N    CHANGING    THE    SENSE     BY   VARYING    THE    MODULATIOB 
AND    BY   CHANGING    THE    SEAT   OF   EMPHASIS. 

Ue  attended  Divine  service  regularly. 

Read  the  above  passage  so  as  to  place  the  emphasis  firsi 
exclusively  upon  regularly;  then  upon  Divine  service;  then 
upon  attended;  and  last  upon  He.  The  words  immediately 
preceding  or  following  the  emphatic  word,  must  be  givoo 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  46 

10  the  usual  conversational  pitch  and  tone.  Make  a  ma^-ked 
pause  directly  after  uttering  the  word  which  receives  ♦lie 
emphasis. 

Give  the  tone  of  the  direct  question  upon  the  last  word 
of  the  same  passage,  so  that  it  will  convey  the  same  mean- 
ing that  would  be  conveyed  if  the  question  were  asked 
thus: 

Di'J  jou  say  tlmt  he  attended  divine  service  r^ularlyl 

Then  change  the  seat  of  emphasis  as  in  the  preceding 
exercise.  Next  express  it  in  a  tone  of  surprise.  Give  the 
same  sentence  as  a  question  in  a  whispered  tone;  then 
express  it  as  if  in  answer  to  the  question,  in  the  same 
tone:    thus, 

He  attended  Divine  service  regularly? 

Ans.    He  attended  Divine  service  regularly. 

Next,  express  it  both  interrogatively  and  affirmatively, 
in  the  tone  of  unimpassioned  conversation ;  then  as  if 
carrying  on  a  conversation  with  a  person  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street;  then  as  if  conversing  with  a  person  still 
farther  away  from  you ;  and  so  on,  to  the  utmost  extent  of 
your  vocal  capability. 

Express  it  also  both  interrogatively  and  affirmatively  in 
a  very  pleasant  tone  and  manner;  in  a  sullen,  surly  man- 
ner; in  a  careless,  indiflferent,  sleepy  tone  and  manner;  in 
a  very  irritable  or  excited  tone  and  manner;  in  a  scornful 
or  ironical  tone ;  in  a  respectful,  deferential  tone ;  in  a 
very  serious  tone,  and  in  a  merry,  laughing  tone. 

Such  exercises,  carefully  pracujed,  will,  more  than  any 
other,  facilitate  the  progress  of  the  student,  in  obtaining 
a  command  of  the  tones,  looks,  and  action  by  which  the 
▼arious  emotions  and  passions  of  the  soul  are  expressed. 


EXERCISE  IX. 

ANTITHESIS. 


Antithesis  is  tbundcd  upon  contrast,  cxpro^sed  or  iii- 
plied.  It  occurs  in  a  sentence  in  which  two  or  more 
words  are  opposed  to  each  other  in  meaning.     Words,  tlubl 


46  ELOCUTION. 

express  opposite  ideas,  must  be  marked  by  different  modu- 
lations, and  expressed  with  greater  emphasis,  than  the 
words  that  immediately  precede,  or  those  which  follow 
them.  In  nearly  all  cases  there  should  be  a  marked  pause 
directly  after  the  antithetic  words,  and  on  the  remaining 
words  in  the  passage  the  voice  should  take  its  ordinary, 
nnimpassioned  tone. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  I  come  to  6ifry-— Onsar,  not  to  praiu  him. 

2.  The  evU  that  men  do,  Vires  after  them; 
The  ffood — is  ofl  interred  with  their  bones. 

8.  It  is  sown  in  weakne4$;  it  is  raised  in  power.  It  is  sown  a 
natural  body;   it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body. 

4.  If  ye  are  beatU^  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen,  waiting  for  the 
butcher's  knife!     If  ye  are  men, — follow  me  I 

6.  0  Comrades  1  Warriors!  Thracians  1— if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight 
for  <mr»elvu !    If  we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors  i 

6.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  <nw^,  and  die  all  slaves,  than  that 
Onsar  were  daad,  and  live  all  Jrtammf 

7.  A  friend  can  not  be  known  in  prosperity;  an  enemy  can  not 
be  hidden  in  adversity. 

8.  Speak  gently;   it  is  better  far 

To  rule  by  love,  than  fear: 
Speak  gently,  let  no  harsh  words  mar 
The  good  we  might  do  here. 

9.  Contrasted  faults  through  all  his  manners  reign: 
Though  pocr^  luxurious ;   though  submissive,  vain ; 
Though  ^ractf,  yet  trifling;   zealous,  yet  untrue; 
And  e'en  in  penanne,  planning  sins  anew. 

10.  Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes, 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods; 
Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 
Aipiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel. 


EXERCISE   X. 

CLIMAX. 

A  climax  is  a  series  of  particulars,  members,  or  senten- 
ces, in  which  each  successive  particular,  member,  or  sentence 
riiFes  in  force  and  importance  to  the  last. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  47 

The  pervading  pitch,  the  kind  of  stress,  the  rate  of  utter- 
ance, and  the  peculiar  modulations  of  the  voice,  appropriate 
to  the  correct  delivery  of  any  example  of  climax,  the 
student  must  find  out  for  himself  The  best  rule  that  can 
be  given  is  to  study  the  passage  carefully  until  he  has  a 
correct  appreciation  of  it,  then  to  practice  upon  it  until  ha 
cau  bring  out  his  own  conception  of  its  meaning  and  char 
acter,  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  himself  As  a  general 
rule,  the  voice  should  fall  so  as  to  make  a  partial  cadence 
at  the  close  of  the  first  member  of  the  climax,  and  each 
successive  member  ought  to  be  given  with  increasing  force 
and  earnestness   to  the  last. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  I  tell  you,  though  you,  though  the  whole  world,  though   an 

angel   from   heaven,  were   to  declare   the   truth   of  it,  I  would   not 
believe  it. 

2.  But  every  where,  spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light, 
blazing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and  over 
the  land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heaven,  that  other  sen- 
timent, dear  to  every  American  heart — Liberty  and  Union,  now  and 
forever,  one  and  inseparable. 

8.    And  Donglas,  more,  I  tell  thee  here — 
Here— in  thy  pitch  of  pride — 
Here — in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  deJUd. 

4.    I  will  not,  must  not,  dare  not,  grant  your  wish. 

6.  I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes,  strong  prov- 
ocations, bitter,  burning  wrongs,  I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  celli 
shut  up,  to  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 

6.  Add  to  your  faith,  virtue,  and  to  virtue,  knowledge,  and  t« 
knowledge,  temperance,  and  to  temperance,  patience,  and  to  patience, 
godliness,  and  to  godliness,  brotherly  kindness,  and  to  brotherly 
kicdness,  charity. 

7.  Clarence  has  oomel  false!  fleeting  I  perjured  Clareno*' 

8.  Days,  months,  years,  and  ages  shall  cirole  away, 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll; 
Earth  loses  thy  pattern,  forever  and  aye; 

0,  sailor  boy  1  sailor  boj  t  peaoe  to  thy  soul. 


4B  ELOCUTION. 

0.     The  c1ou(]-capt  towers,  the  gorgeous    ^alaces, 
The  Jiolcmu  temples,  the  great  globo    >»»lf, 
Yea,  uU  that  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve. 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision, 
Leave  not  a  wreck  behind. 

10.     Can  you  raise  the  dead? 

Pursue  and  overtake  the  wings  of  time? 
And  bring  about  again  the  hours,  the  days, 
The  years  that  made  me  happy? 


EXERCISE  XI. 
AMPLIFICATION    AND    ENU.MERATION. 

Amplification  signifies  a  diffusive  description  or  discus 
sion,  containing  such  an  enumeration  of  particulars  as  will 
present  the  subject  in  the  strongest  light.  It  admits  of 
various  modes  of  delivery,  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
suhject  and  other  circumstances.  Generally,  amplification 
and  climax  require  nearly  the  same  style  of  delivery. 

Let  the  pupil  study  the  following  examples  carefully, 
and  use  his  own  discretion  as  to  the  style  and  manner  of 
giving  them. 

I.     To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art; 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart; 
To  make  mankind  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  tlie  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold  ;- 
For  this  the  tragic  muse  first  trod  the  stage: 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  every  age. 

2.  Such  has  been  the  case  witli  Mr.  Roscoe.  Born  in  a  place 
apparently  ungenial  to  the  growth  of  literary  talent;  in  the  very 
market-place  of  trade;  without  fortune,  family  connections,  or  patron- 
age; self-prompted,  self-sustained,  and  almost  self-taught;  he  has 
conquered  every  obstacle,  achieved  his  way  to  eminence,  and,  having 
become  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  nation,  has  turned  the  whole  force 
of  his  talents  and  influence  to  advance  and  embellish  his  native  town. 

3.  Let  not  me  passions  blight  the  intellect  in  the  spring  of  its 
advancement,  nor  indolence  nor  vice  canker  the  promise  of  the  heart 
in  blossom.  Then  shall  the  summer  of  life  be  adorned  with  moral 
beauty,  the    autumn  yioid  a  harvest  of  wisdom  and  virtue    ?>d  ^  th< 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  49 

tinier  af  »ge  bo  cheered  with  pleasing  reflections  >n  the  past,  and 
bright  oopes  of  the  fUturc. 

4.  We  do  not  pray  to  instruct  or  advise  God;  not  to  tel)  him 
news,  or  inform  him  of  our  wants;  nor  do  wo  pray  by  dint  of  argu- 
ment to  persuade  God  and  bring  him  to  our  bent;  nor  that,  by  fair 
speech,  we  may  cajole  him,  or  move  his  affections  toward  us  by  pa- 
lb  3tical  orations;  not  for  any  such  purpose  are  we  obliged  to  pray; 
but  because  it  becometli  and  behooveth  us  so  to  do;  because  it  is  a 
proper  instrument  of  bettering,  ennobling,  and  perfectiug  our  souls; 
because  it  breedeth  most  holy  affections,  and  pure  satisfactions,  and 
worthy  resolutions:  because  it  fittcth  us  for  the  enjoyment  of  hap- 
piness, and  leadeth  us  thither:  for  such  ends  devotion  is  prescribed. 

5.  We  have  been  discoursing  of  infancy,  childhood,  boyhood,  and 
youth;  of  pleasures  lying  upon  the  unfolding  intellect  plenteously  as 
morning  dew-drops  of  knowledge,  inhaled  insensibly  like  fragrance; 
of  dispositions  stealing  into  the  spirit  like  music  from  unknown 
quarters;  of  images  uncalled  for,  and  rising  up  like  exhalations;  of 
hopes  plucked,  like  beautiful  wildflowers  from  (bo  ruined  tombs  tliat 
border  the  highways  of  antiquity,  to  make  a  garland  for  a  living 
forehead:  in  a  woi-d,  we  have  been  treating  of  nature  as  a  teacher 
of  truth  through  joy  and  through  gladness,  and  as  a  creatress  of  the 
faculties  by  a  process  of  smoothness  and  delight.  We  have  made 
no  mention  of  fear,  shame,  sorrow,  nor  of  ungovernable  and  vexing 
thoughts;  because,  although  these  have  been,  and  have  done  mighty 
service,  they  are  overlooked  in  that  stage  of  life,  when  youth  is  pass- 
ing into  manhood:  overlooked,  or  forgotten. 

6.  There  various  news  I  heard  of  love  and  strife; 
Of  peace  and  war,  healtli,  sickness,  death,  and  life; 
Of  loss  and  gain;  of  famine  and  of  store; 

Of  storms  at  sea,  and  travels  on  the  shore; 

Of  prodigies  and  portents  in  the  air; 

Of  fires  and  plagues,  and  stars  with  biasing  hair; 

Of  turns  of  fortune,  changes  in  the  state, 

The  fall  of  favorites,  projects  of  the  great; 

Of  old  mismanagements,  taxations  new: 

All  neither  wholly  false,  nor  wholly  true. 

7.  Tn  all  the  modern  IanguAg«8  she  WM 

'       •'-•lingly  well  versed,  and  had  devoted 
I       iioir  attainment,  far  more  time  than  has, 
By  the  best  teachers,  lately  been  allotted; 
For  she  had  taken  lessons  twice  a  week, 
For  a  fill!  month  in  each;  and  she  ooold  Bfmk 
KlDD. — 5 


60  ELOOUTION. 

French  And  Italian,  equally  as  well 

A^  riilnese,  Portuguese,  or  German;  and 

^'k  11  more  surprising,  she  could  spell 

M  .1-  longest  English  words,  off-hand: 

W.i-  .luitc  familiar  in  low  Dutch  and  Spanish, 

AuU  iliuught  of  studying  modern  Greek  and  Danish. 


EXERCISE  XII. 

TRANSITION. 

Tr.iii-ition.  in  Elocution.  slLMiifits  a  suildon  change  in  the 
iuality,  (^  of  the  voice;  aa 

from  a  liigH,  to  a  low  pitcli,  iroin  a  suDduod,  to  a  very  loud 
tone,  from  a  very  slow,  to  a  very  rapid  rate  of  utterance, 
and  the  reverse  of  these.  -,  also,  to  the  changes  in 

style,  as  from  the  pcrsua.'^i*^  i«^  ihe  declamatory;  also,  to 
the  expression  of  passion  or  emotion,  as  from  grief  to  joy, 
fear  to  courage,  hope   to  despair,  &c. 

Xn  rnl.\>  cm  1)0  laid  down  in  relation  to  the  management 
msition,  which  will  be  intelligible  without 
tliL   ir    !ig  teacher  to  exemplify  them. 

Tiie  following  exercises,  if  persevered  in  for  a  short  time, 
will  enable  the  pupil  to  make  some  of  the  most  important 
vocal  transitions,  with  ■^'•'^'  "-"d  ease. 

iV/>/, — Repeat  1,  2.  progressively  increasing  the 

force  and  elevating  th  t'  the  voice,  as  in  the  climax, 

up  to  the  last  numbei.  .mulu  pronounce  with  great  force, 
then  pause  l\n-  a  niouient,  and  pronounce  G.  7,  8,  9,  very 
slowly,  in  the  lowest  and  deepest  tone  you  can  command. 
Increase  the  number  of  particulars  gradually,  as  you  find 
jou  are  acquiring  the  power  to  sustain  the  voice,  in  great 
force,  upon  a  higher  pitch. 

Secoii'l, — Repeat  the  open  vowels  in  the  same  way,  tlien 
the  short  vowels,  then  the  short  and  open  vowels  irregularly 
interspersed,  letting  the  last  in  a  series  be  an  open  vowel. 

Third. — Give  a  number  of  words  Oi  names,  with  inereas- 
luy:  foi're  and  r;;i)idity.  to  the  last  one:  then  pause  and  let 
the  voict'  jfoio  instructed,  and  *rive  other  names  or 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  '>  1 

words  vory  slowly,  with  long  quantity,  and   in   the   lowQot 
pitch  of  the  voice  that  you  can  reach. 

Fourth, — Select  for  yourself  a  few  suitable  short  passagefl, 
and  exercise  upon  them  in  the  same  way  as  upon  tho  vctral 
Mounds. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Were  I  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a  si^gli 
foreign  troop  remained  in  my  country,  I  would  never  lay  do^m  my 
arms,  Xever  I  Never!  Never  I 

2.  An  hour  passed  on,  tlic  Turk  awoke; 
That  bright  dream  was  his  last: 

He  woke  to  hear  his  sentry  shriek, 
"To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek!'' 

3.  Charge!  Chester,  Charge!  Ox,  Stanley!  on! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

4.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself  are  much  condemned  to 
haTo  an  itching  palm,  to  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold  to  undc- 
senrers. 

I  an  itching  palm? — You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak 
this,  or  by  the  gods  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

5.  If  influenced  by  local  pride,  or  gangrened  by  slate  jealousy,  I 
get  up  here  to  abate  a  tithe  of  a  hair  from  his  just  character  and 
just  fame — may  my  tongue  cleave  to  tlie  roof  of  my  mouth. 

6.       God  of  the  Mariner!    protect 

Her  inmates  as  she  moves  along, 
Through  perils  which  ere  now  had  wrecked — 

But  that  tliine  arm  is  strong. 
Ha!  she  has  struck — she  grounds — she  stands, 
StiU  as  if  held  by  giant  hands. 

Qtdck,  man  the  boat! — away  they  sprani^ 

The  stranger  ship  to  aid; 
And  loud  their  hailing  voices  rang, 

And  rapid  speed  they  made: 
But  all  in  silence,  deep,  unbrokc, 
The  vessel  stood — none  answering  spoke. 


'Twas  fearful — not  a  sound 
No  moving  thing  was  tliere, 

To  interrupt  the  dread  repoM 
Which  fiU'd  each  heaH  with  fear. 


52  ELOCUTION. 

7.      Hush!  hark  I  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell 
Did  ye  not  hear  it? — No:  'twas  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street: 
On  with  the  dance!  Let  joy  be  unconfined; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet: — 
But  hark !  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier,  than  before ! 
Arm!  arm!  it  is! — it  is! — the  cannon's  opening  roart 

8.  Her  giant  form 

O'er  wrathful  surge,  through  blackening  storm, 

Majestically  calm,  would  go, 

'Mid  the  deep  darkness,  white  as  snow! 

But  gently  now  the  small  waves  glide. 

Like  playful  lambs  o'er  a  mountain's  side. 

So  stately  her  bearing,  so  proud  her  array. 

The  main  she  will  traverse  forever  and  aye. 

Many  ports  will  exult  at  the  gleam  of  her  mast! 

—Hush!  hush!   thou  vain  dreamer!  this  hour  is  her  iast 

Five  hundred  souls,  in  one  instant  of  dread, 

Are  hurried  o'er  the  deck; 
And  fast  the  miserable  ship 

Becomes  a  lifeless  wreck, 

9.  And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste:  the  steed. 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed. 
And  swiftly  forming  in  tlie  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar. 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum. 

Roused  up  the  soldier,  ere  the  morning  star; 
While  thronged  the  citizens,  with  terror  dumb, 
iw  whispering,  with  white  lips,  "The  foe!  They  come!  they  come  I' 


EXERCISE  Xin. 


EMPHATIC   REPETITION. 

In  emphatic  repetition,  the  repeated  word  or  words  should 
be  given  with  increased  force  and  earnestness  the  second 
time  uttered,  and  so  on,  increasing  the  intensity  of  expres- 
sion with  each  repetition. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  58 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  bo  assured,  be  asmred  that  this 
ieclaration  wrill  stand. 

2.  RUe,  fathers  I  rise!  'tis  Rome  demands  your  help. 

8.   65» /  comrades,  up! — in  Rokeby's  halls, 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 

L  Woe!  Woe!  Woe,  unto  tlie  inhabitanta  of  the  earth! 

6.  Arm!  Arm!  it  is  I — it  is! — the  cannon's  opening  roar! 

6.  The  temples  of  the  god's,  the  gods  themselves,  will  justify  tiie 
cry,  and  swell  tlie  general  sound,  Revenge!  Revenge!  Revenge! 

7.  Peace!  Peace! — To  otlier  than  to  me, 
Thy  words  are  evil  augury. 

8.  Hold,  liold!  for  your  lives! 

9.  Holdy  fiold!  the  general  speaks  to  you. 

10.  Stretch  to  the  race! — Awag! — Away! 

11.  To  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms!  they  cry. 

12.  "On/  On/"— was  still  his  stern  exclaim, 
•^Cor\/ront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame! 

13.  Lo!  anointed  by  Heaven  with  tlie  vials  of  wrath. 
Behold  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path! 

Now  in  darkness  and  billows  he  sweeps  from  my  sight: 
Rise!  rise!  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight! 

14.  ^^Revengel — Revenge!" — the  Saxons  cried. 

16.  To  arttu! — To  arms!" — a  thousand  voices  cried. 

16.  "Who  dares  to  fly  from  yonder  swords," — he  crieSi 
Who  dares  to  tremble^  by  this  weapon  dies. 

17.  5tomi— Bayard! — Stand! — the  steed  obey'd, 

18.  War!   War! — aloud  with  general  voice  they  cry. 

Repetition,  when  properly  expressed,  gives  great  bcautj 
tod  irapressiveness  to  the  passage  in  whieh  it  oceurs. 


EXERCISE  XIV. 

INTERROGATION. 

Wlien   men    are   moved   by  passion,  or  are  intensely  in 
•arnest  in  argumencation,  tbey  naturally  express  what  they 


54  ELOCUTION. 

would  aHinn  or  deny  by  vehement  interrogation,  thus  ex- 
hibiting the  strongest  confidence  in  the  truth  of  their 
Btatcnicnts. 

Most  of  our  finest  examples  of  senatorial  and  argumen- 
tative eloquence  abound  with  the  interrogation. 

The  pupil  should  carefully  study  the  following  examples, 
until  he  clearly  understands  them  ;  then,  as  far  as  possible, 
he  should  bring  himself  under  the  influence  of  the  proper 
spirit,  and  give  the  passage,  in  an  appropriate  tone  and 
manner,  with  directness,  force,  and  earnestness.  Pause  at 
the  end  of  every  question,  as  if  you  waited  an  answer; 
this  will  render  your  tone  and  manner  much  more  direct, 
natural,  and  eflfective. 

Keep  the  voice  full  and  clear,  and  in  a  pitch  in  which 
you  ctj  readily  control  its  modulations. 

EXAMPLES. 

1 .  But  wherefore  thou  alone  ?  wherefore  with  thee  came  not  all  hell, 
broke  loose? 

2.  Who  is  here  so  base  that  would  be  a  bondman?  If  any,  speak! 
for  him  have  I  offended.  "Who  is  here  so  rude  that  would  not  be  a 
Roman?  If  any,  speak!  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile 
that  will  not  love  liis  country?  If  any,  speak!  for  him  have  I 
offended. 

8.  Tried  and  convicted  traitor!  Who  says  this?  Who'll  prove  it 
at  his  peril  on  my  head? 

4.  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field.  Why  stand  we  here  idle? 
What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish?  What  would  they  have?  Is  life 
so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains 
and  slavery? 

6.  Are  not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair — is  not  he — our  venerable 
colleague  near  you,  are  not  you  both  already  the  proscribed  and 
predestined  objects  of  punishment  and  of  vengeance?  Cut  off  from 
all  hope  of  royal  clemency,  what  are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while 
the  power  of  England  remains,  but  outlaws? 

6.  They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak — unable  to  cope  with  so 
formidable  an  adversary;  but  when  shall  we  be  stronger?  Will  it 
be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year?  Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally 
disarmed,  and   when   a  British  guard  shall    be    stationed   in  every 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  ')5 

Iioiise?  Shall  wo  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction? 
Shall  we  acquire  the  means  of  eiTectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely 
ujxjn  our  backs  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope  until  our 
encraies  shall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot?  Sir,  we  are  not  weak, 
if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  tlie  means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath 
placed  in  our  power. 

7.  He  that  planted  the  ear,  shall  ho  not  heui  i.u  itmi  iuimuu  die 
eye,  shall  he  not  see?  he  that  clmstiseth  the  heathen,  shall  he  not 
correct?  he  that  teacheth  man  knowledge,  shall  he  not  know? 

Thou  therefore  that  teachest  another,  teachest  thou  not  thyself? 
ihou  that  preachest,  a  man  shall  not  steal,  dost  thou  steal?  thou 
chat  sayost  a  man  shall  not  commit  adultery,  dost  thou  commit 
idultery?  ihou  that  abhorrcst  idols,  dost  thou  commit  sacrilege?  thou 
•Iiat  makes!  thy  boast  of  the  law,  through  breaking  the  law,  dis- 
h:nor«»s*.  tUou  God? 

8.  Whence  is  man; 

Why  formed  at  all;  and  wherefore  as  ho  is; 
Where  must  he  find  his  maker:  with  what  ritea 
Adore  him?     Will  he  hear,  accept  and  bless; 
Or  does  he  sit  regardless  of  his  works? 
Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed; 
Or  does  the  tomb  take  all?     If  he  survive 
His  ashes,  where?  and  in  what  weal  or  wo? 

9.  'Tis  strange  the  miser  should  his  cares  employ, 
To  gain  those  riches  he  can  ne'er  enjoy; 

Is  it  less  strange  the  prodigal  should  waste 

His  wealth  to  purchase  what  he  ne'er  can  taste? 

10.  Is  it  the  cold  and  languid  speaker,  whose  words  fall  in  such 
sluggish  and  drowsy  motion  from  his  lips,  that  they  can  promote 
nothing  but  the  slumbers  of  his  auditory,  and  minister  opiates  to  the 
boJy,  rather  than  stimulants  to  the  mind;  is  it  the  tinlettered  fanatic 
without  method,  witliout  reason,  with  incoherent  raving,  and  vocife- 
rous ignorance,  calculated  to  fit  his  hearers  not  for  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  but  for  a  hospital  of  lunatics;  is  it  even  the  learned,  inge- 
aiouR  and  pious  minister  of  Christ,  who,  by  neglect  or  contempt  of 
Uic  oratorical  art,  has  contracted  a  whining,  monotonous  sing-song 
delivery  to  exercise  the  patience  of  his  flock,  at  the  expense  of 
cUier  Christian  graces?  or  is  it  the  genuine  orator  of  heaven  with 
a  heart  sincere,  upright,  and  fervent:  a  mind  stored  witu  thnt  uni- 
vei-tial  knowledge,  required  as  the  foundation  of  the  art>  with  a 
genius  for  the  invention,  a  skill  for  tJio  disposition,  and  a  voice  for 
the  elocution  of  every  argument  to  convince  and  ever>  sentiment  t« 
persuade  ? 


nn  BLOCUTION. 


EXERCISE   XV. 
PITCH. 

No  definite  rules  can  be  given  for  the  regulation  of  the 
pitch  of  the  voice.  The  nature  of  the  sentiment  and  dis- 
criminating taste  must  determine  the  appropriate  key-note 
dT  delivery. 

HIGH   PITCH. 

To  obtain  good  control  of  the  voice  in  a  high  pitch, 
practice  upon  such  examples  as  the  following  with  great 
force,  in  the  highest  key  in  which  you  can  manage  the 
voice.  Remember  to  drop  the  jaw,  so  as  to  keep  the  mouth 
and  throat  well  open,  and  whenever  the  voice  breaks  into 
a  falsctte,  or  impure  tone  of  any  kind,  stop  immediately,  ard 
rest  for  a  few  moments,  then  begin  again. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Boat  ahuy  I  Boat  ahoy ! 

2.  Charcoal  I    Charcoal!    Charcoal! 

8.  Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah! 

4.  Up  drawbridge,  grooms! — what,  warder,  ho! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall. 

6.  Follow  your  spirits,  and  upon  this  charge, 

Cry,  God  for  Harry!  England!  and  Sl  George! 

6.  The  combat  deepens:  On, ye  brave! 
Who  rush  to  glory  or  the  yr:ive. 

7.  Bursts  the  storm  on  Phocis'  walls ! 
Rise  f — or  Greece  forever  falls. 

8    Vet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains, 
Risfi  I  Fellow-men ! — our  country  yet  remains. 

9.  Quick!  man  the  boat! 

10.  "Jump  far  out,  boy,  into  the  wave ! 
Jump,  or  1  fire  P  he  said : 

"This  chance  alone  your  life  can  save. 
Jump  !  Jump  f  the  hoy  obeyed. 

11.  To  arrru!   To  arms! — a  thousand  voices  cried. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  57 

Most  of  the  examples  in  Repetition  are  appropriate  ex- 
amples for  practice  in  high  pitch  and  sustained  force. 

The  foregoing  exercise  is  one  of  the  very  best  for  in- 
creasing the  compass  and  flexibility  of  the  voice;  but  the 
student,  to  profit  by  it,  must  practice  frequently,  and  wim 
;ll  the  force  he  can  command. 


EXERCISE  XVI. 

LOW    PITCH. 

The  best  way  to  obtain  a  good  control  of  the  voice  in  a 
low  pitch,  is  to  practice  such  exercises  as  those  given  under 
REPETITION  and  HIGH  PITCH,  until  you  are  somewhat  fa- 
tigued with  your  exertions,  then,  after  resting  the  lungs 
and  vocal  organs,  for  two  or  three  hours,  practice  in  the 
lowest  and  deepest  tone  you  can  command,  upon  passages 
which  require  the  deepest,  lowest,  and  most  prolonged  tones 
of  the  voice. 

If  found  very  laborious  and  difficult  to  sustain  a  full, 
clear,  and  resonant  tone  in  a  low  key,  rest  a  few  nroments 
occasionally,  and  then,  "try  again." 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  How  hollow  groans  the  earth  beneath  my  treA<l; 
Is  there  an  echo  here?   methinks  it  sounds 

As  though  some  heavy  footstep  followed  me: 
I  will  advance  no  farther. 

2.  My  soul  was  hushed  within  me,  and  a  dread 

Of  what  I  knew  not,  charmed  mine  awe-struck  thought 
The  breeze  that  rustled  in  my  hair,  seemed  fraught 
With  murrauriugs,  as  if  the  ocean  dead 

Were  moaning  in  their  sleep;  the  billows  brought 
Strange  voices  to  mine  ears,  as  if  they  soughl 
Communion;  and  the  white  moon,  overhead, 
Beem'd  whispering  to  my  soul  in  every  ray  she  shed. 

8.  Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  Death! 
Come  to  tlie  mother,  when  she  feels, 
For  tlie  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath ; — 


58  ELOCUTION. 


Come,  when  the  blessed 
Thai  close  tlic  pestilence  sre  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; — 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form — 
The  earthquake  shock — the  ocean  storm — 
Come,  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  wann, 

With  banquet-song,  and  dance,  and  wine — 
And  thou  art  terrible; — the  tear. 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 

4.  How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  tlieir  marble  heads, 
To  bear  aloft  its  arched  and  ponderous  roof, 
By  ita  own  weight  made  steadfast  and  immovabU, 
Looking  tranquillity  1    It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight:  the  tombs 
And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart 

6.  At  dead  of  night, 

In  sullen  silence  stalks  forth  Pestilence: 
CoxTAGiON,  close  behind,  taints  all  her  steps 
With  poisonous  dew:  no  smiting  hand  is  seen; 
No  sound  is  heard;  but  soon  her  secret  path 
Is  marked  with  desolation:  heaps  on  heaps 
Promiscuous  drop.     No  friend,  no  refuge,  near: 
All,  all  is  false  and  treacherous  around, 
All  that  they  touch,  or  txiste,  or  breathe,  is  Death  I 

C.  Thou  breathest ; — and  the  obedient  storm  is  still , 
Thou  speakest; — silent,  the  submissive  wave: 
Man's  shattered  ship  the  rushing  waters  fill; 
And  the  hushed  billows  roll  across  his  grave. 
Sourceless  and  endless  God !  compared  with  Thee, 
Life  is  a  shadowy,  momentary  dream; 
And  time,  when  viewed  through  Thy  eternity. 
Less  than  the  mote  of  morning's  golden  beam. 

7  Why  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 
'Tis  the  Divinity  that  stirs  within  us; 
'Tis  Heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 


VOCAL    CULTURE. 

Eternity! — thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought  1 
Througr.  what  variety  of  untried  being, 
Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  puss  I 
The  wide,  tli'  unbounded  proapect  lies  before  me; 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it. 

8   Night,  sable  goddess,  from  her  ebon  throne, 
In  rayless  majesty,  now  stretches  forth 
Her  leaden  scepter  o'er  a  slumbering  world. 
Silence,  how  dead !  and  darkness,  how  profound ! 
Nor  eye,  nor  listening  ear,  an  object  finds; 
Creation  sleeps.    'Tis  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  Nature  made  a  pause. 
An  awful  pause,  prophetic  of  her  end. 

9.  Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 

Nature  seems  dead;  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 

The  curtained  sleep;  now  witchraft  celebrates 

Pale  Ilecate's  offerings;  and  withered  murder, 

Alarumed  by  hij  sentinel,  the  wolf, 

Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 

Toward  his  design 

Moves  like  a  ghost. — Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth  t 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk;  for  fear 

The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it. 


EXERCISE  XVII. 

SUSTAINED    FORCE. 

The  tones  of  the  voice  can  Jdo  rapidly  deepened,  strength- 
ened, and  improved  in  quality,  by  practicing  upon  syllables, 
Vords,  and  short  passages,  in  the  most  intensive  and  sus- 
tained forms  of  the  Expulsive,  and  the  Explosive  Radicni 
Stress. 

To  give  the  accompanying  examples  with  proper  effect, 
the  student  must  exert  every  energy  of  body  and  mind. 
By  pursuing  this  course,  he  will  soon  increase  the  power 
and  flexibility  of  his  voice  to  a  surprising  extent,  and,  also, 
iicquirc  a  directness  of  tone  and  earnestness  of  manner, 
which  will  be  invaluable  to  him  as  a  public  speakor 


00  ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  I  scorn  your  proffer' tj  treaty:  the  pale-face  I  i^*y, 
Rstengf  is  stamped  upon  my  spear,  and  blood,  my  battle-cry 

2.  Our  brethrea  are  already  in  the  field, 
Why  stand  we  here  idle? 

8.  Tried  and  convicted  traitor!     Wno  $^t  this? 
Who'll  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  ? 

4.  lie  DARES  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline  I 

6.  RonsK,  je  Soman*  I  Ronss,  je  slates  I 

6.  I  laid  me  flat  along,  and  cried  in  thralldom  to  the  furious  winds, 
«»Bu>w  ON  I  Uiis  is  tlie  land  of  liberty!'' 

7.  Thou  dost  BELTS  him,  Percy!   thou  dost  belie  himl      He  never 
iid  encounter  with  Glendower. 

8.  Unmanner'd  rool  stam>  tiiou.  when  I  command! 
Advance  thy  halberd  higher  than  my  breast, 

Or,  by  Saint  Paul  I  I'll  strike  thee  to  the  earth, 
And  spurn  upon  thee,  beggar,  for  thy  boldness. 
• 

9.  A  horse!  a  horse!  my  kingdom  for  a  horse! 

10.  What  in  the  world  he  is, 
That  names  me  traitor,  villian-like  he  lies: 
Call  by  thy  trumpet:  he  that  dares  approach, 
On  him,  on  tou— WHO  NOT?— I  will  mainUin 
My  truth  and  honor  firmly. 

11.  Strike  I — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 
Strike! — for  your  altars  and  your  fires; 
Strike! — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires — 

God,  and  your  native  land ! 

12.  Back  to  thy  punishment, 

False  fugitive!  and  to  thy  speed  add  wings; 

Lest  with  a  whip  of  scorpions  I  pursue  • 

Thy  lingering,  or,  with  one  stroke  of  this  dart, 

Strange  horror  seize  thee,  and  pangs  unfelt  before! 

13.  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape! 
That  dafst,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  my  way 

To  yonder  gates?     Through  thera  I  mean  to  pass — 
That  be  assured — without  leave  asked  of  thee: 
Retire!  or  taste  thy  folly;  and  learn  by  proof, 
IIell-borx  !  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  heaven. 


VOCAL     CULTURE.  01 

EXERCISE  XVIIJ 

SUBDUED. FORCE. 
!.  Ahl  life  is  a  journey  of  wearisome  hours, 

That  the  rose  of  enjoyment  but  seldom  adorns; 

And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  alive  to  the  flowers, 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touched  by  the  thorns. 

1       Thou  unrelenting  Past! 

Strung  are  the  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain; 

And  fetters,  sure  and  fast, 
Hold  all  that  enter  thy  unbreathing  reign. 

3.  Ye've  gathered  to  your  place  of  prayer, 

With  slow  and  measured  tread; 
Your  ranks  are  full,  your  mates  all  there, 

But  the  soul  of  one  hath  fled. 
Tread  lightly,  comrades,  ye  have  laid 

His  dark  locks  on  his  brow, 
Like  life,  save  deeper  light  and  shade. 

We'll  not  disturb  them  now. 

4.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame,  fresh  and  goryj 
We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone. 
But  left  him — alone  in  his  glory. 

5.  Ahl  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet, 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding  sheet^ 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet, 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulcher. 

6.  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 

And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set; — but  all. 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  0  Deatli! 

We  know  when  moons  shall  wane, 
When  summer  birds  from  far  shall  cross  tlie  sea, 

When  autumn's  hue  shall  tinge  the  golden  grain 
But  who  shall  teach  us  when  to  look  for  thee? 

7.  Tei  half  I  hear  the  parting  spirit  sigh, 

''  It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing  to  die !" — 
Mysterious  worlds  un traveled  by  tlio  sun, — 
Where  Time's  far-wandering  tide  has  never  run, — 
From  your  un  fathomed  shades,  and  riewleaa  spheres, 
A  warning  comes,  unheard  by  other  ears. 


62  ELOCUTION. 


EXJ-:i;'i-i:   xix. 

LON(. 

Qnrintity  relates  to  the  duration,  or  length  uf  time  tiikcii 
up  in  the  utterance  of  a  syllable  or  word.  The  word  roar 
\>  ail   example  of  lon^'  quantity  ;    the   word  pU  of  short 

iAT  liie  following  words  be  pronounced  in  the  swell,  in 
the  expulsive  radical  stress,  and  in  the  explosive  radical 
stress,  with  varying  degrees  of  force,  Imt  always  prolonging 
them  to  the  utmost  extent  possible  without  changing  their 
character,  or  giving  them  in  a  manner  the  least  akin  to  a 
drawl. 

By  pronouncing  the  words  as  if  you  were  speaking  to 
some  one  fifty  or  a  hundred  yards  away,  you  will  soon  form 
the  habit  of  bringing  out  the  vocals  and  sub-voculs  in  a 

clear,  strong,  and  prolonged  tone. 

« 

EXAMPLES. 

Star.  jmIc,  law,  bold,  scorn.  u  down,  shame,  slave,  all.  lo. 

rave,  lime,  hail.  roar,  praise,  own,  Avnere,  moon,  plume,  law,  wail, 
calm.  \\\v\  Avhv.  shore,  roll,  ale,  wall,  hold,  me,  knell,  lie,  home,  blow, 
rise,  noon,  cold,  etc. 

One  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  delivery  consists  in  a  full, 
clear,  prolonged  utterance  of  the  open  vowel  sounds ;  all  of 
which  are  eminently  susceptible  of  long  quantity,  as  are 
many  of  the  sub-vocals  when  properly  expressed.  Words 
that  end  with  these  sounds  generally  ought  to  terminate 
with  a  prolonged  and  well-defined  delicate  vanish. 


xMUVEMENT. 

Words  are  uttered  slowly  or  rapidly,  according  to  the 
predominating  feeling.  In  anger  or  excitement  of  any 
kind,  we  cut  them  short,  and  hurry  over  them  rapidly.  In 
grief,  solemnity,  adoration,  and  all  the  deeper  emotions  of 
the  soul,  we  dwell  upon  the  words,  and  utter  th?m  vcrv 
slowly. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  68 

EXERCISE     XX. 
IN   bLJW    MOVEilENT   AND    LONG    QUANTITY. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  And  I  beheld  when  he  had  opened  the  sixth  seal,  and  lol  there  w»i 
•  great  earthquake.  And  the  sun  became  black  as  sackcloth  of  hair, 
and  the  moon  became  as  blood ;  and  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  unto  the 
earth,  even  as  a  fig-tree  casteth  her  untimely  figs,  when  she  is  shaken 
of  a  mighty  wind.  And  the  heaven  departed  as  a  scroll  when  it  is 
rolled  together;  and  every  mountain  and  island  were  moved  out  of 
their  places.  And  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and  the  great  men,  and  the 
rich  men,  and  the  chief  captains,  and  the  mighty  men,  and  every  bond- 
man, and  every  free-man,  hid  themselves  in  the  dens  and  in  the  rocks 
»f  the  mountains;  and  said  to  the  mountains  and  rocks,  Fall  on  us, 
and  hide  us  from  the  face  of  Him  that  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  from 
the  wratlx  of  the  Lamb:  for  the  great  day  of  his  wrath  is  come;  ap«i 
who  shall  be  able  to  stand  ? 

2.  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yevr-trce  s  shade,  • 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moldering  heap, — 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, — 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  bum. 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 

Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  sh&re. 

8.  Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 

First  chaos,  tlicu  existence: — Lonl!  on  thee 
Eternity  had  its  foundation;  —  all 

Sprung  forth  from  Thee, — of  light,  joy,  harmony, 
Sole  origin  :  — all  life,  all  beauty  thine. 

Thy  word  created  all,  and  dotli  create ; 
Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  art  and  wert  and  shalt  be !  Glorious !  great ! 

I  L'ht^giving,  life*8U8taining  Potentate  I 

4.  u  lx)r<i :  have  mercy  upon  us,  miserable  offenders!  Sparc  iht>L 
those,  0  God !  who  confess  their  faults  according  to  thy  promises, 
declared  unto  mankind  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord,  and  grant,  oh  I  most 
mercifiil  Father,  for  his  sake,  that  we  may  hereafter  live  »  godly 
righteous,  and  sober  life,  to  the  glory  of  thy  Holy  Name. 


64  RLOOUTION. 

JSXERCISE  XXI. 
IN   SHORT  QUANTITY   AND    QUICK    MOVEMENT. 

EXAMPLES. 
1.  Quick  I  man  the  life  boat!  see  yon  bark, 
Tliat  driTCS  before  the  blast: 
There's  a  rock  ahead,  the  fog  is  dark. 
And  the  storm  comes  thick  and  fast; 
Can  human  power,  in  such  an  hour, 
Avert  the  doom  that's  o'er  her? 
Her  mainmast  is  gone, 
But  she  still  drives  on. 
To  the  fatal  reef  before  her: — 
The  life  boat!  man  the  life  boat  I 

2  Where's  Harry  Blount?  Fitz  EusUce,  whertf 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare? 
Redeem  my  pennon — charge  again, 

Cry — Marmion  to  the  rescue! — Vain, 
To  Dacre  bear  my  signet  ring: 
Tell  liim  his  squadrons  up  to  bring. 
Let  Stanly  charge,  witli  spur  of  fire, 
With  Chester  charge  and  Lancashire, 
Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host, 
Or  Victory  and  England's  lost! 
Must  I  bid  twice?  hence,  varlets,  fly  I 
(ftlowly)    Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die  I 

3  Talk  not  to  me 

Of  odds  or  match ! — When  Comyn  died, 
Three  daggers  clashed  within  his  side! 
Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hall ! — 
The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall  I 
On  God's  own  altar  streamed  his  blood; 
While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsmen  stood 
Tha  ruthless  murderer,  e'en  as  now — 
Wit}\  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow — 
Up !  all  who  love  me ! — blow  on  blow 
And  lay  the  outlawed  felons  low! 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  (»5 


EXERCISE  XXll. 
EXCLAMATION. 

Exclamation  shows  that  the  mind  is  laboring  with  some 
strong  emotion.  It  should  bo  expressed  in  that  tone  and 
manner  which  arc  appropriate  to  the  passage.  Let  tho 
pupil  exercise  his  own  taste  and  judgment  as  to  the  ma«i' 
ncr  of  giving  the  following 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Ye,  who  have  hearts  of  pity  I  ye,  who  have  experienced  the  an- 
guish of  dissolving  friendship!  who  have  wept,  and  still  weep  over 
tlie  moldering  ruins  of  departed  kindred  1 — ^ye  can  enter  into  the 
reflection. 

2.  0  Jerusalem  I  Jerusalem  1  thou  that  killest  the  prophets  and 
stonest  them  tlmt  are  sent  unto  thee,  how  often  would  I  have  gathered 
thy  children  together,  even  as  a  hen  gathereth  her  chickens  under 
her  wings,  and  ye  would  not. 

3.  Who  would  not  exchange  the  misgivings  and  the  gloom,  that 
overhang  this  skeptical  creed,  for  the  inflexible  faith,  the  ardent  hope, 
the  holy  rejoicing  of  him  who  doubts  not  for  a  moment  the  future 
reign  of  universal  peace? 

4.  0  Grave!  where  is  thy  victory? 
0  Death!  where  is  thy  sting? 

6.  What,  sweetness,  what  purity,  in  his  manners!  what  an  affect- 
ing gracefulness  in  his  instructions!  what  sublimity  in  his  maxims! 
what  profound  wisdom  in  his  discourses !  what  presence  of  mind, 
what  sagacity  and  propriety  in  his  answers!  how  great  the  command 
over  his  passions! 

G.  How  hard  it  is  to  conyince  Christians  of  these  things !  how  hard 
to  bring  them  to  act  on  the  broad,  simple,  uncompromising  precepts 
of  the  gospel !  how  next  to  impossible  does  it  seem  for  them  to  regu- 
late their  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  and  all  the  influences  they  are 
perpetually  exerting  over  others,  by  the  purifying  and  self-sacrificing 
tkumility  of  the  gospel  I 

7.  Did  you,  sir,  throw  up  a  black  crow  ? — Not  I ! — 
Bless  me  I  how  people  propagate  a  lie! 

8.  How  ghastly  the  visage  of  death  doth  appear; 

How  frightful  the  thought  of  the  shroud  and  the  bier; 
And  the  blood-orested  worm — how  vile  I 
K I ni»  -  -«> 


66  ELOCUTION 

9.  How  friendly  the  hand  that  faith  is  now  lending*. 
How  benignant  her  look  o'er  the  pillow  while  bending. 
How  sweet,  how  assuring,  her  smile ! 

10   Great  Heaven  I  how  frail  thy  creature  man  is  made* 
How  by  himself  insensibly  betrayed ! 

11.  Not  one  shall  survive  to  be  enslaved;  for  ere  the  tri-colored 
flag  shall  wave  over  our  prostrate  republic,  the  bones  of  four  millions 
of  Americans  shall  whiten  the  shores  of  their  country  I 


PERSONATION. 

Personation  is  the  representation  by  a  single  reader  or 
speaker,  of  the  words,  manners,  and  actions  of  one  or  several 
persons. 

The  student  should  practice  frequently  and  carefully 
upon  such  pieces  as  require  personation  in  connection  with 
narration  and  description.  Such  exercises  are  peculiarly 
fitted  to  break  up  monotonous  and  unimpressive  habits  of 
delivery. 


STYLE. 

One  of  the  most  important  matters  to  be  considered 
before  engaging  in  a  reading  or  declamatory  exercise,  is 
the  style  or  manner,  in  which  the  piece  should  be  given. 

In  A.RGUMENT,  the  style  must  be  characterized  by  direct- 
ness and  earnestness. 

In  DESCRIPTION,  the  speaker  must  proceed  in  precisely 
the  same  manner  that  he  would  if  he  were  actually  describ- 
ing the  thing  spoken  of. 

In  NARRATION,  he  must  proceed  as  if  narrating  some  part 
of  his  own  experience. 

In  PERSUASION,  he  must  use  those  tones,  looks,  and  ges- 
tures only,  which  he  knows  are  appropriate  to  persuasion. 

In  EXHORTATION,  he  must  appeal,  beseech,  and  implore, 
as  the  case  may  require. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  G7 

In  pieces  of  a  mixed  character,  he  must  vary  the  style 
to  suit  the  sentiment  and  character  of  the  passage. 

When  the  pupil  understands  the  principles  and  rules 
which  have  heen  discussed,  sufficiently  well  to  be  able  to 
give  a  correct,  practical  exemplification  of  each  of  them,  he 
ought  to  select  passages  for  himself,  suitable  as  exercises 
in  cadence,  pause,  parenthesis,  antithesis,  climax,  amplifica- 
tion, repetition,  and  transition;  also  in  pitch,  force,  stress, 
movement,  quantity,  in  personation,  in  style,  and  in  every 
rule  in  modulation  and  expression. 

He  must  especially  practice  in  every  kind  of  stress,  and 
with  every  degree  of  force,  from  the  most  subdued  whisper 
to  the  shout  of  enthusiastic  exultation. 


GESTURE. 

Gesture,  to  be  appropriate  and  impressive,  must  be  natu- 
ral. When  gesture  has  its  origin  in  the  mere  caprice  of  the 
speaker,  it  will  appear  artificial  and  out  of  place. 

The  speaker  who  is  unable  to  manage  his  voice,  is  never 
easy  and  graceful  in  his  gestures. 

If  the  voice  is  exercised  on  too  high  a  key,  or  in  a  harsh, 
aspirated,  guttural,  or  impure  tone  of  any  kind,  the  attitude 
will  be  stiflf  and  awkward,  and  the  gestures  broken,  irre- 
gular, and  difficult.  But  the  speaker  who  has  a  good  com- 
mand of  his  voice,  if  he  understands  his  subject,  and  is 
self-possessed,  will  speak  with  ease ;  and  his  gesticulation, 
if  not  always  graceful,  will  be  appropriate  and  expressive. 

Before  the  pupil  can  be  easy  and  natural  in  his  action 
and  gesticulation,  he  must  have  perfect  control  of  his  voice. 
Any  attempt,  therefore,  which  he  may  give  to  th3  cultivation 
of  gesture  and  action,  before  he  has  obtained  a  good  control 
of  his  voice,  will  be  labor  spent  in  vain. 

ATTITUDE    AM)    (IKSTURK    IN    READING. 

StAnd  or  sit  erect,  in  an  easy  and  graceful  position,  and 
hold  the   book  in  the  left  hand  on  a  level  with  the  face. 

liOnk  froin  vonr  >    r'    '     flip  nndicnee,  as  often  and  as  long 


68  BLOCUTION. 

at  a  time  us  you  can,  without  missing  the  place.  Make  but 
few  gestures,  and  then  only  when  you  are  looking  at  your 
audience.  To  gesticulate  while  your  eye  is  resting  upon  the 
book,  is  not  only  inappropriate,  but  ridiculous. 

A(  IKiN    IN    UNIMPASSIONED    DISCOURSE. 

In  didactic  or  uniui passioned  discourse,  gesticulation  is  not 
necessary,  farther  than  occasionally  to  slightly  change  the 
position  and  movement  of  the  hands,  or  to  move  the  head 
and  body  sufficiently  to  look  at  your  audience  from  right 
to  left.  In  discourse  of  this  character  the  gestures  and 
movements  should  be  executed  slowly,  and  as  gracefully  as 
possible.  In  stating  unimportant  particulars,  or  speaking 
about  matters  which  require  a  quiet,  narrative  style,  the 
right  arm  and  hand  should  be  chiefly  used. 

There  are  three  positions  in  which  the  hand  and  arm  may 
rest,  and,  by  slowly  changing  from  one  to  the  other  of  these 
positions,  stiffness  and  rigidity  in  the  gestures  of  the  arm 
will  be  avoided. 

First :  Let  the  arm  hang  naturally  by  the  side. 

Second  :  Let  the  hand  rest  upon  the  hip,  the  elbow  thrown 
well  backward. 

Third  :  Let  it  rest  between  the  buttons  of  your  vest,  on 
your  bosom. 

In  all  these  positions  the  muscles  of  the  arm  and  hand 
must  be  relaxed,  so  that  the  attitude  may  be,  at  once,  easy 
and  natural. 

DESCRIPTIVE    GESTURES. 

Descriptive  gestures  are  those  used  in  pointing  out  or 
describing  objects.  The  pupil  will  soon  acquire  skill  in  the 
use  of  these,  by  practicing  in  accordance  with  the  following 
instructions : 


EXERCISE    XXIII. 

Pronounce  the  names  of  a  number  of  objects  near  you. 
and,  as  you  mention  the  name  of  each,  extend  the  arm  and 
point  the  forefinger  or  the  open  hand,  in   the  direction  of 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  69 

the  object,  completing  the  gesture  the  moment  you  utter 
the  accented  syllable  of  the  name  or  word  :  thus, 

1.  The  gentleman  on  my  rights  the  lady  on  my  left^  the 
vacant  chair  be/ore  me,  the  books,  maps,  and  pictures  all 
around  me. 

2.  High,  Low,  Left,  Right  :  on  pronouncing  the  word 
liiou,  raise  the  hand  gracefully  above  the  head;  on  LOW,  let 
it  fall  slowly  and  gracefully;  left,  let  the  arm  and  hand  be 
extended  to  the  left ;  on  the  word  right,  to  the  right. 

3.  Before  commencing  the  gesture  always  let  the  eye 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  object,  concerning  which  you 
are  about  to  speak. 

4.  Do  not  move  the  arm  and  hand  to  the  intended  posi- 
tion by  the  shortest  course,  but  describe  a  waving  line,  and 
let  the  motion  be  rather  slow,  until  the  position  is  almost 
reached,  then  let  the  hand  move  quickly  to  its  place,  in  com- 
pleting the  gesture. 

When  the  student  has  obtained  a  tolerable  command  over 
his  arms,  hands,  and  lower  limbs,  let  him  select  for  himself 
short  passages  suitable  as  exercises  in  descriptive  gesture 
and  action. 

EXAMPLES. 
1.  Their  swords  flashed  in  Jront^ 
While  their  plumes  waved  behind. 

i.  His  throne  is  on  the  mottntain  top. 
Ilia  fields  the  boundless  air, 
And  hoari/  hills,  that  proudly  prop 
The  tkiei,  his  dwelling  are. 

3.  Mountains  above,  Earth's,  Ocean's  plain  below. 

4.  Death  in  iha  front,  destruction  in  the  rear. 

6.  See  tlxrougli  this  air,  this  ocean,  and  this  earth, 
All  matter  qnick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 

SIGNIFICANT   GESTURES. 

The  ffead  and  Face. 
The  hanging  down  of  the  head  denotes  shame,  or  grief 
The  holding  of  it  up,  pride  or  courage. 
To  nod  forward  implies  assent. 


70  ELOCUTION. 

To  toss  the  head  back,  dissent 

The  inclination  of  the  head  impli('»*  c\iflidrnc<!  or  lancjur  . 

The  head  is  averted,  in  dislike  or  horror. 

It  leans  forward,  in  attention. 

The  Eye*. 
The  eyes  are  raised,  in  prayer. 
They  weep,  in  sorrow. 
They  burn,  in  anger. 

They  are  downcast  or  averted,  in  shame  or  -vu^f. 
They  are  cast  on  vacancy,  in  thought. 
They  are  cast  in  various  directions,  in  doubt  and  <inxiety 

Tlie  Arms. 

The  placing  of  the  hand  on  the  head,  indic»ter  p'^in  ot 
distress. 

On  the  eyes,  shame  or  sorrow. 

On  the  lips,  an  injunction  of  silence. 

On  the  breast,  an  appeal  to  conscience. 

The  hand  is  waved,  or  flourished,  in  joy  or  contempt. 

Both  hands  are  held  supine,  or  they  are  applied,  or 
clasped,  in  prayer. 

Both  are  held  prone,  in  blessing. 

They  are  clasped,  or  wrung,  in  affliction. 

They  are  held  forward,  and  received,  in  friendship. 

The   Body. 

The  body  held  erect,  indicates  steadiness  and  courage 

Thrown  back,  pride. 

Stooping  forward,  condescension  or  compassion. 

Bending,  reverence  or  respect. 

Prostration,  the  utmost  humility  or  abasement. 

The  Lower  Limbs. 

The  firm  position  of  the  lower  limbs  signifies  courage  oi 
obstinacy. 

Bended  knees  indicate  timidity,  or  weakness. 
The  lower  limbs  advance,  in  desire  or  courage. 
They  retire,  in  aversion  or  fear. 
Start,  in  terror. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  71 

Stamp,  in  authority  or  anger. 
Kneel,  in  submission  and  prayer. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  simple  gestures  which  may  I* 
termed  significant. 


EXERCISE   XXIV. 

LANGUAGE    OP   THE    PASSIONS. 

To  exhibit  a  passion  correctly,  you  must  never  attempt 
its  imitation,  till  the  imagination  has  conceived  so  strong 
an  idea  of  it,  as  to  move  the  same  impressive  springs  within 
the  mind  as  those  by  which  that  passion,  when  uncoerced, 
has  been  excited. 

Before  you  attempt  to  give  any  passage  of  pathos  or  of 
passion,  be  sure  that  you  understand  every  thing  about  it, 
necessary  to  be  understood  in  order  to  render  it  correctly; 
then  as  far  as  able  put  on  the  appearance,  and  use  the 
tones  and  action  by  which  the  feeling  you  wish  to  express 
is  characterized.  In  this  way  you  will  soon  acquire  the 
art  of  bringing  yourself,  to  some  extent  at  least,  under 
the  influence  of  any  feeling  that  you  understand  and 
appreciate. 

"  The  different  passions  of  the  mind  must  be  expressed 
by  different  tones  of  the  voice.  Love,  by  a  soft,  smooth, 
languishing  voice;  anger,  by  a  strong,  vehement,  and  ele- 
vated voice;  joy,  by  a  quick,  sweet,  and  clear  voice,  sorrow, 
by  a  low,  flexible,  interrupted  voice ;  fear,  by  a  dejected, 
tremulous,  hesitating  voice;  courage,  by  a  full,  bold,  and 
low  voice;  and  perplexity,  by  a  grave,  steady,  and  ear- 
nest voice.  In  exordiums  the  voice  should  be  low,  yet 
clear;  in  narrations,  distinct;  in  reasoning,  slow;  in  per- 
suasions, strong;  it  should  thunder  in  anger,  soften  in  sor- 
row, tremble  in  fear,  and  melt  in  love." 

EXAMPLES. 

AXQMM,  AKD  800RK. 

1.  Thou  slave  I  thou  wretch!  thou  cowftrdi 

Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villainy  t 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  tho  stronger  side! 


ELOCUTION. 

Thou  fortune's  champion,  thou  dost  never  fight 
But  when  ner  humorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  Jiee  s^fetj!     Thou  art  perjured  too, 
And  sooth'st  up  greatness!     What  a  fool  art  thou, 
A  ramping  fool,  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  sweat, 
Upon  my  party !     Thou  cold-blooded  slave, 
Hast  tliou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side? 
Been  sworn  my  soldier?  bidding  me  depend 
Upon  thy  stars,  tl»y  fortune,  and  thy  strength  ? 
And  dost  tliou  now  fall  over  to  my  foes? 
Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide?     DoflF  it  for  shame. 
And  hang  s  calfs  skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

PITT. 

2.  Oh  I  sailor-boy,  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight! 

In  darkness  dissolves  tlie  gay  frost-work  of  bliss — 
Where  now  is  the  picture  that  Fancy  touched  bright, 
Thy  parents'  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honeyed  kiss? 

Oh !  sailor-boy  I  sailor-boy !  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay; 

Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  tlie  main. 
Full  many  a  score  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for  thee, 
Or  redeem  form,  or  frame,  from  the  merciless  surge; 

But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding-sheet  be 
And  winds,  in  the  midnight  of  winter,  thy  dirge. 

UNRELENTING    OBSTINACY. 

8.       I  '11  have  my  bond;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak: 
I  '11  have  my  bond ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more 
I  '11  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool, 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.     Follow  not; 
I  '11  have  no  speaking!  I  will  have  my  bond. 

GRIEF. 

4.  My  daughter,  once  the  comfort  of  my  age, 
Lured  by  a  villain  from  her  native  home, 
Is  cast,  abandon'd,  on  the  world's  wide  stage. 
And  doom'd  in  scanty  poverty  to  roam. 

My  tender  wife,  sweel  soother  of  my  care ! 

Struck  with  sad  anguish  at  the  stern  decree. 
Fell,  lingering  fell,  a  victim  to  despair ; 

And  left  the  world  to  wretchedness  and  me. 


vocaI  culture.  78 

Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  mau, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span: 

Ohl  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  stoi-e. 

SELF   REPBOACn. 

6.  0  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I; 
Is  it  not  monstrous,  that  this  player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion. 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  counsel, 
That,  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  warmed, 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  his  aspect, 
A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  functions  suiting. 
With  forms  to  his  conceit;  and  all  for  nothing; 
For  Hcc-u-ba!    What's  Ilec-u-ba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hec-u-ba, 
That  he  should  weep  for  her  ? 

INTENSE    FEAR. 

6.  Ah!  mercy  on  my  soul!  What  is  that?  My  old  friend's  ghost? 
They  say  none  but  wicked  folks  walk;  I  wish  I  were  at  the  bottom 
of  a  coal-pit.  See !  how  long  and  pale  his  face  has  grown  since  his 
death:  he  never  was  handsome;  and  death  has  improved  him  very 
much  the  wrong  way.  Pray  do  not  come  near  me  !  I  wish'd  you  very 
well  when  you  were  alive;  but  I  could  never  abide  a  dead  man, 
cheek  by  jowl  with  me. 

Ah,  ah,  mercy  on  us !  No  nearer,  pray ;  if  it  be  only  to  take  leave 
of  me  that  you  are  come  back,  I  could  have  excused  you  the  cere- 
mony witli  all  my  heart ;  or  if  you — mercy  on  us !  no  nearer,  pray, 
or,  if  you  have  wronged  any  body,  as  you  always  loved  money  a 
little,  I  give  you  the  word  of  a  frightened  Christian;  I  will  pray  a.«! 
long  as  you  please  for  the  deliverance  or  repose  of  your  departed  souL 
My  good,  worthy,  noble  friend,  do,  pray  disappear,  as  ever  you  would 
wlah  your  old  friend  to  come  to  his  senses  again. 

RAQE. 

7.  Tou  souls  of  geese, 

That  bear  the  shapes  of  men,  how  have  you  run 

From  slaves  that  apes  would  beat! — Pldto  and  hkllI 

All  hurt  behind;  backs  red,  and  faces  pale 

With  flight  and  agucd  fear! — Mend,  and  charge  homs, 

Or  bj  the  fireA  of  neaven,  1*11  leave  the  foe, 

And  make  my  wars  on  TOU:  look  to't:  Com  omI 

SUSPICION. 

8.  Would  he  were  fatter;  but  I  fear  him  not: 
Yet,  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 

KiDD— 7 


T4  ELOCDTI(?N. 

1  do  not  know  the  man,  I  sliould  avoid 

So  soon  as  this  spare  Cassius.     lie  reads  much; 

He  is  0  great  observer,  and  he  looks 

Quite  through  ihe  deeds  of  men. 

lie  loves  no  plays;  he  hears  no  music; 
Seldom  he  smiles ;  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
Aff  if  he  mocked  himself^  and  scorned  his  spirit, 
Th.it  r,,nl.J  l)e  moved  to  8mil'>   ■»    ciy  thing. 
■  s  he,  bo  never  oase, 

Wii.ic  liity  behold  a  greatoi  uum  memselves, 
And  therefore,  are  they  very  dangerous. 

EEMORSE. 

9.  Oh!  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faith  Hi 
I  would  not  spend  another  such 
Though 't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days, 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time  I 
My  dream  was  lengthened  after  11  k-: — 

Oh!  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul! 

.  methought,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Ki:  ;   :ae,  auJ  liowlod  in  luine  cur.s 

Such  hideous  crit  ise, 

I  trembling  wakcu, o^.......  ..i.^r, 

Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell; 
Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream! 

KK'^rnv  VTION. 

10.  0  Tliou,  vl  .10  mourner's  tear, 

How  dark  iius  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 
We  could  not  fly  to  thee ! 

The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live. 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 

But  thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart 
^^  hich,  like  the  plants  that  throw 

Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 
Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

COMPLAl.VIXG    OF    EXTREMK    PAIX. 

11.  Search,  there;  nay,  probe  me;  search  my  wounded  rema, 
Pull, — draw  it  out,— 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  76 

Oh!  I  am  shot!     A  forked,  burning  arrow — 
Sticks  across  my  shoulders :  the  sad  venom  Hies 
Like  lightning  thro'  my  Uesh,  my  blood,  my  marrow. 
Ha!  what  a  change  of  torments  I  endure! 
A  bolt  of  ice — runs  hissing — thro'  my  body  : 
'Tis  sure — the  arm  of  death;  give  me  a  chair; 
Cover  me,  for  I  freeze^  my  teeth  chatter, 
And  my  knees  knock  together. 

AWE. 

12    A  fearful  hope — was  all — the  world  contained  : 
Forests  were  set  on  fire ;  but,  hour  by  hour. 
They  fell,  and  faded,  and  the  crackling  trunks 
Extinguished  with  a  crash,  and  all  was  black. 
The  brows  of  men,  by  the  despairing  liglit. 
Wore  an  unearthly  aspect,  as,  by  fits, 
The  flashes  fell  upon  them.     Some  lay  down, 
And  hid  their  eyes,  and  wept;  and  some  did  rest 
Their  chins  upon  their  clenched  hands,  and  smil'd; 
And  others  hurried  to  and  fro,  and  fed 
Their  funeral  piles  with  fuel,  and  looked  up, 
With  mad  disquietude,  on  the  dull  sky. 
The  pall  of  a  past  world;  and  then  again. 
With  curses,  cast  them  down  upon  the  dust, 
And  gnashed  their  teeth,  and  howled. 

MALICE. 

18    How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks ! 
I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian ; 
But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity. 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  with  us  here  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
1  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him! 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation ;  and  he  rails, 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest. — Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him! 

SORROW. 

14.  Seems,  madam  I  nay,  it  is:  I  know  not  seema, 
'T  is  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother. 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black. 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forced  breath; 

No,  nor  i\'.-  fVi.iifni  ii\«T  ;■■  '!'•»  •«y««, 


76  ELOCUTION. 

■•     Nor  the  dejected  'havior  of  the  visage, 

Togctlicr  with  all  forms,  modes,  shows  of  grief, 
TImt  ctin  denote  me  truly :  these,  indeed,  seem, 
For  they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play; 
But  I  have  that — within,  which  passeth  show, 
These — but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  wo. 


If).  I  would  that  now 

1  could  forget  il"  tnnnk  who  stands  before  me; 
For  he  is  lik(  scd  and  crafty  snake ! 

lience!  from  lu,  ».^..i  I  —  Thou  Satan,  get  behind  me; 
Go  from  my  sight !  —  1  hate  and  I  despise  thee ! 
These  were  thy  pious  hopes;  and  I,  forsooth, 
Wa«  in  thy  hands  a  pipe  to  play  upon ; 
And  at  thy  music  my  poor  soul  to  death 
Should  dance  before  tliee  I 
Thou  stand's!  at  length  before  me  undisguised, 
Of  all  earth's  groveling  crew  the  most  accursed, 
rm  !  thou  viper!  —  to  thy  native  earth 
1  ;  —  Away  !  —  Thou  art  too  base  for  man 

To  tread  upon.  — Tliou  scum  I  tliou  re).ti!o  ! 

REVEUEXCF. 

16.  O  T>ord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  Tliy  name  in  all  the  earth! 
who  ha!«t  set  Thy  glory  above  the  heavens.  When  I  consider  the 
hoavoiis  the  work  of  Thy  fingers;  the  moon  and  the  stars,  which 
T1k)ii  ha?t  onlaiiKMl ;  what  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him? 
and  tl»f?  son  of  man,  tliat  Tlion  visitest  him? 

For  Thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and  hast 
crowned  him  with  glory  and  honor.  Thou  madest  him  to  have  domi- 
nion over  the  works  of  Thy  hands :  Thou  hast  put  all  things  under  his 
•eet      0  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  Thy  name  in  all  the  earth  I 

HORROR. 

17    Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight!    Let  the  earth  hide  theej 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold : 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with  !     Hence,  horrible  shadow. 
Unreal  mockery,  hence! 

SUBLIMITY. 

18.  Thou  glorious  mirror!  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed, — in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, — 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
'  Dark  heaving; — boundless,  endless,  and  sublime, — 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  77 

The  image  of  Eternity, —the  (hrono 

Of  the  Invisible;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monstei*8  of  the  deep  are  made;  each  lone 
Obeys  thee, — thou  gocst  fortli,  dread,  fathomless,  alone ' 

BITTER    DENUNCIATION. 

19.  Thou  den  of  drunkards  with  the  blood  of  princes- 
Gehenna  of  the  waters!  thou  sea  Sodom! 
Thus  I  devote  thee  to  the  infernal  gods ! 
Thee  and  thy  serpent  seed! — Slave,  do  thine  office! 
Strike  as  I  struck  the  fool     Strike  as  I  would 
Have  struck  those  tyrants J     Strike  deep  as  my  curse! 
Strike — and  but  once! 

HOPE. 

20    All 's  for  the  best !  be  sanguine  and  cheerful. 

Trouble  and  Sorrow  are  friends  in  disguise; 
Nothing  but  Folly  goes  faithless  and  fearful, 

Courage  forever  is  happy  and  wise: 
All's  for  the  best — if  a  man  would  but  know  it, 

Providence  wishes  us  all  to  be  blest; 
This  is  no  dream  of  the  pundit  or  poet, 

Ileaven  is  gracious,  and — All 's  for  the  best! 

All's  for  the  best!  set  this  on  your  standard. 

Soldier  of  sadness,  or  pilgrim  of  love, 
Who  to  the  shores  of  Despair  may  have  wandered^ 

A  way- wearied  swallow,  or  heart-stricken  dove; 
All's  for  the  best! — be  a  man  but  confiding. 

Providence  tenderly  governs  the  rest, 
And  the  frail  bark  of  his  creature  is  guiding 

Wisely  and  warily,  all  for  the  best. 

COMMAND.  • 

21.  Still  " Onward  1"  was  his  stem  exclaim; 
"Charge  on  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame! 
Rush  on  the  level  gun' 
Each  Ilulan  forward  with  his  lance' 
My  steel-clad  cuirassiers  advance  1 
My  guard,  my  chosen,  charge  for  France! 
France  and  Napoleon!'* 


22.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd ; 

It  droppcth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  hearen 
Upon  the  place  beneath:  it  is  twice  bless'd; 
It  blesscth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes: 


7^  T5L0CUTI0N. 

'Tis  mightiest — in  the  irightiest;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch — better  thnn  his  crown; 
His  scepter  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe — and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings; 
But  mercy — is  above  this  sceptered  sway, 
It  is  enthroned — in  the  hearts  of  kings, 

It  is  an  attribute to  God  himself: 

And  earthly  power — doth  then  show  likesi  Ood's, 
When  mercy — seasons  justice. 

REVENGE. 

28.  If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath 
disgraced  me,  and  hinder'd  me  of  half  a  million;  Inugh'd  at  my 
losses,  mocked  at  my  gains,  scorn'd  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains, 
oool'd  my  friends,  heated  mine  enemies.  And  what's  his  reason?  I 
am  a  Jew  I  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  Hath  not  a  Jew  hands?  organs, 
dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions?  Is  he  not  fed  with  the  same 
food;  hurt  with  the  same  weapons;  subject  to  the  same  diseases; 
heal'd  by  the  same  means:  warm'd  and  cool'd  by  the  same  summer 
and  winter,  as  a  Christian  is? 

If  you  stab  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  If  you  tickle  us,  do  we  not 
laugh?  If  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die?  And  if  you  wrong  us, 
shall  we  not  revenge?  If  we  are  like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  re- 
semble you  in  that.  If  a  Jew  wrong  a  Christian  what  is  his  humility? 
Revenge.  If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance 
be  by  Christian  example?  Whj',  Revenge.  The  villainy  you  teach 
me,  I  will  execute;  and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  better  the 
instruction. 

ADORATION. 

24.  Thou  art,  0  God!  the  life  and  light 

Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see; 
Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine  I 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 

Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even. 
And  we  can  almost  tliink  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  Heaven, 
Those  hues,  that  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord !  are  Thine. 

SURPRISE. 

26.  Gone  to  be  married;  gone  to  swear  a  peace! 
It  is  not  so :  thou  hast  misspoke,  misheard  1 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  79 

Be  wetl  advised,  tell  o'er  thy  tale  again : 
It  caunot  be!  thou  dost  but  say  'tis  so; 
What  dost  thou  mean  by  shaking  of  thy  head? 
What  means  that  hand — upon  that  breast  of  thine  f 
Why  holds  thine  eye — that  lamentable  rheum? 
Be  these  sad  sighs — confirmers  of  thy  words? 
Then  speak  again ;  not  all  thy  former  talc, 
But  this  one  word — whether  thy  tale  be  true  ? 

ADMONITION 

2G  Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 

Nor  anj*  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar ;  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 
Grapple  tliem  to  thy  soul,  with  hooks  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm — with  entertainment 
Of  ev'ry  new-hatch'd,  unfledg'd  comrade.     Beware 
Of  entrance  into  quarrel!  but^  being  in. 
Bear  it,  that  the  opposer — may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice, 

Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  tliy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit — as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy. 

For  the  apparel — ofl  proclaims  the  man. 

Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be; 

For  loan — oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 

And  borrowing — dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This  above  all — to  thine  own  self  be  true, 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 

Thou  canst  not,  then — be  false  to  any  man. 

BEPROACIt. 

17     Shame  I  shame  I  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 

Worth  ages  of  history,—  when,  had  you  but  hurl'd 
One  bolt  at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife 

Between  freemen  and  tyrants  had  spread  through  the  world. — 
That  then, — 0 !  disgrace  upon  manhood ! — e'en  then 

You  should  falter, — should  cling  to  your  pitifnl  breath,- 
Cower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stood  men. 

And  prefer  a  slave's  life  to  a  glorious  death  I 

ADVICE  TO   STUDENTS   OP   ELOCUTION. 

No  matter  under  what  favoring  circumstances  the  student 
^ay  be   placed,  he  may  attend  the  best  p^'hooU,  the  besi 


fM)  ELOCUTION. 

lectures,  and  have  the  aid  of  the  best  teachers,  yet  his  rea« 
improvement  is  never  effected,  and  never  can  be,  unless  he 
does  the  work  for  himself.  He  can  never  become  a  fin- 
ished speaker  unless  he  feels  an  interest  that  shall  induce 
him  to  exercise  himself  in  a  faithful  course  of  appropriate 
practice,  and  cultivate  his  taste  and  judgment,  by  careful 
•tudy  and  critical  observation. 

The  highest  attainment  of  %rt  is  the  best  imitation  of 
nature;  to  attain  to  excellence  in  art,  the  pupil  must  study 
nature  as  it  exists  in  the  manners  of  the  living  age,  and 
gather  his  models  from  the  best  society,  and  the  best  ora- 
tors, and  aim  to  appropriate  and  improve  them  to  his  own 
benefit,  so  as  to  embody  in  his  style  the  perfections  of  all, 
without  himself  becoming  the  servile  imitator  of  any. 

Sherwood. 

1.  Whenever  you  fail  to  give  the  most  significant  word 
or  words  in  a  passage  with  the  right  kind  of  emphasis,  con- 
tinue to  repeat  the  sentence  upon  which  the  difficulty 
occurs,  if  need  be,  a  hundred  times,  until  you  can  give  it 
correctly. 

2.  Let  it  be  your  constant  endeavor  to  cultivate  those 
tones  of  voice,  which  are  always  pleasant  to  the  ear.  Before 
you  can  aff"ect  the  heart  you  must  please  the  ear. 

3.  Select  a  few  short  passages  and  express  them  so  as  to 
convey  as  many  different  meanings  as  possible;  also  practice 
upon  them  in  every  degree  of  force,  pitch,  rate  of  utterance, 
form  of  stress,  and  in  every  quality  of  voice. 

4.  In  the  delineation  of  passion  and  the  personation  of 
character,  the  speaker,  to  be  successful,  must  not  only  have 
a  clear  conception  of  the  meaning  of  the  passages,  but  he 
must  be  able  to  excite  the  right  feeling  in  his  own  mind, 
and  as  it  were,  merge  his  own  individuality  in  the  ideal 
character  which  he  personates. 

5.  Before  you  attempt  to  give  a  piece  in  public,  you 
should  practice  upon  it  in  private,  until  the  words  and 
ideas  are  as  familiar  to  you  as  the  names  of  your  intimate 
friends. 

6.  More  declaimers  break  down  in  consequence  of  forget- 


VOCAL  CULTURE.  «1 

fcing  the  words  of  their  pieces,  than  from  any  other  cause. 
The  surest  way  to  avoid  being  caught  in  such  a  morti- 
fying predicament,  is  to  repeat  the  words  of  your  piece 
with  the  utmost  force,  and  in  the  most  rapid  rate  of  utter- 
ance consistent  with  accuracy  and  perfect  distinctness,  until 
YOU  have  recited  it  thus  several  times,  without  making  any 
mistake.  If  you  do  this  a  short  time  before  declaiming 
your  piece  in  public,  you  will  certainly  perform  it  in  a 
creditable  manner,  providing  you  fully  understand  the  sen- 
timent and  enter  into  the  spirit  of  it. 

7.  Do  not  be  discouraged  because  your  first  eflforts  to 
improve  are  unattended  with  the  success  you  anticipated. 
Remember  that  "there  is  no  excellence  without  ^rert<  labor." 
The  most  renowned  orators  and  actors  were  not  at  all  remark- 
able at  the  commencement  of  their  career,  for  extraordinary 
power  of  voice,  or  great  ability  of  any  kind  :  they  attained 
to  eminence  by  dint  of  systematic,  untiring  perseverance. 

8.  Never  rest  satisfied  with  having  done  well,  but  be 
constantly  trying  to  improve  and  do  still  better.  If  inju- 
dicious friends  have  flattered  you  into  the  belief  that  you 
have  a  remarkable  genius  for  reading  and  oratory,  the 
sooner  you  get  the  foolish  notion  out  of  your  head  the 
better.  A  young  man  who  believes  himself  a  great  genius, 
hardly  ever  becomes  a  useful  member  of  society,  or  a  truly 
distinguished  man. 

9.  Make  a  practice  of  criticising  your  own  reading  and 
speaking.  In  this  way  you  will  discover  many  faults  in 
your  elocution,  which  otherwise  you  might  never  learn. 

10.  Don't  rely  too  much  upon  others  for  instruction  and 
advice,  as  to  how  you  should   read   or  declaim   a   passage: 
think  it  over  until  you  have  formed  a  definite   opinion  of 
your  own  about  it, — and  then  deliver  it  so  as  to  bring  ou 
your  own  conception  of  its  meaning  and  character — 

"Think  for  tJiyself— one  good  idea. 
But  known  to  be  thine  own, 
Is  better  than  a  thousand  gleaned 
Prom  fields  by  others  sown." 

11.  Cultivate  a  pleasant  style  and  manner  in  your  readiug 


82  ELOCUTION. 

and  icclamatory  exercises;  speak  as  if  it  afforded  you 
pleasure  to  engage  in  them,  and  pronounce  every  sentence 
as  though  you  understood  and  felt  interested  in  what  you 
said. 

12.  Avoid  every  thing  like  affectation.  Do  not  try  to 
make  a  great  display:  let  your  mind  be  upon  your  subject 
and  not  upon  yourself.  Lef  your  tone,  look,  and  gestures 
harmonize:  be  deliberate,  yet  evnest  and  natural,  and  you 
will  be  sure  to  succeed.  By  naturalness  of  style  I  mean 
that  common  standard  which  exists  in  the  mind  of  every 
one,  whose  taste  is  not  perverted.  Every  one  can  tell 
whether  the  style  of  the  speaker  or  reader  is  natural  or 
otherwise. 

13.  When  declaiming  a  piece  in  public  look  your  audi- 
ence in  the  face.  The  eye  of  the  orator  and  the  expressive 
movements  of  the  features  often  tell  with  greater  effect 
upon  an  audience  than  all  other  a(5tion,  or  than  the  senti- 
ments given.  A  speaker  can  not  commit  a  greater  mistake 
than  that  of  keeping  his  eyes  cast  down,  averted,  or  turned 
away  from  those  whom  he  is  addressing. 

14.  The  tones  of  public  speaking  must  be  formed  upon 
those  of  sensible,  animated  conversation.  The  best  rule, 
therefore,  is  to  follow  Nature;  consider  how  she  teaches  you 
to  utter  any  sentiment  or  feeling  of  the  heart.  Imagine  a 
subject  of  debate  introduced  into  conversation,  and  yourself 
bearing  a  share  in  it.  Think  after  what  manner,  with  what 
tones  and  inflections  of  voice,  you  would  on  such  an  occa- 
sion express  yourself,  when  you  were  most  in  earnest,  and 
sought  most  to  be  listened  to  by  those  whom  yoii  addressed. 
Let  these  be  the  foundation  of  your  manner  of  pronouncing 
in  public,  and  you  will  take  the  surest  method  of  rendering 
your  delivery  both  agreeable  and  persuasive. 

15.  Beware  of  a  slavish  attention  to  rules;  for  nothing 
should  supersede  Nature,  who  knows  more  than  Art;  there- 
fore, let  her  stand  in  the  foreground,  with  art  for  her  ser- 
vant. Emotion  is  the  soul  of  oratory :  one  flash  of  passion 
on  the  cheek,  one  beam  of  feeling  from  the  eye,  one  thrill- 
ing note  of  sensibility  from  the  tongue,  one  stroke  of  hearty 
p  aphasis  from  the  arm,  have  infinitely  more  value,  than  all 


VOCAL     CULTURE.  83 

(he    rhetorical    rules   and   flourishes   of  ancient   or  modern 
times. — The  great  rule  is — be  in  earnest. 

SUGGESTIONS  TO   TEACHERS  OP   READING   AND   ELOCUTION. 

1.  The  teacher  in  Elocution  ought  to  conduct  his  lessons 
»()  that  his  pupils  shall  clearly  understand  every  step  as  they 
advance  in  their  course. 

2.  The  pupil  should  be  roaster  of  the  elementary  sounds, 
and  able  to  exemplify  all  the  fundamental  rules,  and  impor- 
tant exercises  relating  to  purity  of  tone,  articilation,  and 
the  management  of  the  voice,  before  he  is  permitted  to 
engage  in  general  reading. 

3.  The  pupil  should  not  be  permitted  to  read  a  sentence 
nor  utter  a  sound,  until  he  takes  a  correct  and  graceful 
position. 

4.  Let  the  passages  or  selections,  which  are  given  to  the 
pupil  as  exerci.ses,  be  suited  to  his  taste  and  capacity.  The 
surest  way  to  destroy  a  taste  for  reading  and  make  poor 
readers,  is  to  require  pupils  to  practice  upon  pieces  for  which 
they  have  no  taste,  or  which  they  do  not  comprehend.  A 
clear  understanding  and  appreciation  of  a  passage  is  indis- 
pensably necessary  to  its  correct  delivery. 

5.  The  pupil  ought  to  be  made  to  understand  that  good 
reading  is  exactly  like  good  talking.  Whenever  his  read- 
ing performance  fails  to  come  up  to  this  standard,  he  should 
be  made  to  repeat  until  he  gives  it  correctly. 

G.  As  soon  as  the  pupil  clearly  understands  a  rule,  and 
can  apply  it  correctly  in  a  few  cases,  he  should  be  required 
to  seek  out,  and  also  invent  for  himself,  examples  and  illus- 
trations under  the  different  rules. 

7.  The  great  secret  of  success  in  teaching  elocution  and 
vocal  culture,  consists  in  calling  the  attention  of  the  pupil 
to  but  one  thing  at  a  time.     When  the  exercise  is  in  articu 

ation,  his  attention  should  be  directed  exclusively  to  that. 
When  it  relates  to  pitch,  he  must,  for  the  time,  give  his 
thoughts  entirely  to  that;  so,  also,  with  regard  to  fcrrce, 
Btress,  quality,  quantity,  etc. 

8.  An  excellent  way  to  instruct  a  class  in  reading,  is  to 
ask  each  pupil,  when  be  has  read  a  passage,  to  state  hen 


84  ELOCUTION. 

he  re  all   upon   liiiu  lor  his  reaHons.     The 

practice  ol'  requiring  pupils  to  give  reasons  lor  what  they 
Bay  and  do  in  fl^ir  <.  l.-.l-.^tl/.  fvorciscs,  is  productive  of 
many  advanta  thcni  greater  facility  in 

expression,  greater  accuracy  in  btudy  and  observation,  and 
aids    in   developing   the   thinking   and    reasoning   faculties 

Thus  tiaiiHil  \]ry  will  not  Ic  apt  tn  think  they  know  ^ 
thing  unh  can  clearly  express  it." 

I.E8     FOB    THE    CULTIVATION    (»1      ill!      VOICE, 
ADVICE    TO    rUBMC    SPEAKFRS,    KTC. 

The  only  basis  upon  vl  l-li  .  t'nli  t;,,.,^  pure  tone  of 
voice  can  be  formed,  is  dec :  athing.     To  do 

this  tlie  (hot  must  be  well  tluown  out,  the  head  erect,  and 
the  throat  and  mouth  opened  so  wide  that  the  voice  will 
meet  with  no  obstruction  in  its  course. 

The  great  object  in  commencing  any  systematic  course 
of  vocal  culture,  ought  to  be  to  deepen  and  strengthen  the 
voice.  To  accomplisli  tlii<.  tlie  student  must,  in  his  vocal 
exercises,  stretch  th.  n  r  i ',-  ihout  the  throat  and  the 
root  ot   tlie  I  i!i_ii  regulate  the  action  of 

the  lower  jaw,  so  ui  to  lorm  the  voice  lower  down  in  the 
throat  than  he  is  in  the  habit  of  doing. 

COMPASS    OF    VOICE. 

To  increase  the  compass  of  the  voice,  declaim  short  pas- 
sages which  require  intonse  force  on  a  high  pitch.  The 
pupil  will  discover,  after  the  voice  has  been  thus  taxed  to 
its  highest  capabilities,  that  it  will  perform  its  office  with 
surprisingly  greater  facility  and  ease  on  the  natural  key, 
and  in  a  lower  pitch  than  he  could  reach  before. 

Th3  most  contracted  and  superficial  voice  may  soon  bo 
made  strong  and  flexible  by  this  kind  of  exercise;  and  it 
can  not  be  improved  in  any  other  way.  If  your  voice  is 
feeble,  practice  singing,  shouting,  and  declaiming  with  the 
utmost  force,  at  the  top  of  your  voice,  whenever  an  oppor- 
tunity presents  itself,  and  it  will  soon  acquire  sufficicLt 
strength  and  resonance. 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  85 

SUBDUED   TONES. 

Habitual  speaking  and  reading  in  a  very  loud  tone,  dis- 
qualify the  organs  of  speech  for  executing  the  soft  tones 
with  facility;  yet  the  voice  is  greatly  assisted  in  its  efibrts 
to  acquire  the  more  subdued  tones,  by  being  subjected  to 
the  most  energetic  vocal  discipline,  and  in  the  highest 
pitch  of  the  voice.  These  intensive  exercises  expand  and 
deepen  the  voice,  rendering  it  more  flexible  and  mellow, 
and  bringing  it  more  completely  under  the  control  of  the 
will. 

\>u\].    EXERCISE   PREPARATORY   TO   READING   OR  SPEAKING 
IN    PUBLIC. 

A  beneficial  influence  is  exerted  on  the  voice,  by  the 
nost  vigorous  and  sustained  exercises  upon  the  elementary 
sounds,  and  by  reading  and  declaiming  with  the  utmost 
force  consistent  with  purity  of  tone,  immediately  before  re- 
tiring at  night.  The  organs  of  speech  are  thus  rendered 
flexible  for  exercise  on  the  succeeding  day.  Even  an  in- 
terval of  only  an  hour  or  two,  between  the  preliminary 
exercise  and  the  subsequent  efi'ort,  will,  in  most  cases,  afi"ord 
the  organs  of  speech  time  to  rest,  and  resume  their  natural 
state. 

The  best  course  that  can  be  pursued  to  prepare  the  voice 
for  speaking  within  a  short  time,  is  to  repeat  all  the  ele- 
mentary sounds  several  times  in  succession;  then  declaim 
a  few  select  passages;  first,  with  ordinary  force,  in  the 
middle  pitch;  then,  progressively  elevate  the  pitch,  and 
increase  the  force  and  rate  of  utterance;  lastly,  go  over 
them  two  or  three  tin""^  '••  flic  deepest  and  lowest  tone 
you  can  reach. 

HOW   TO     ACgUrUK     A    CONTROL    OP    THE   VOICE    IN     EITOEB 
A    HIGH   OR   LOW    KEY. 

By  exercising  the  voice  with  great  force,  for  a  short  time, 
in  a  very  low  key — paradoxical  as  it  may  seem — you  will 
immediately  afterward  bo  able  to  speak  with  much  greater 
case  upon  a  high  key;  and  by  exercising  the  voice  with 
great  force  in  a  very  high  pitch,  you  will  bo  able  within  a 


8r»  ELOCUTION. 

short   timo  afterward,  to   read   or  speak,  with   greater  cast 
than  before,  on  a  low  or  very  low  pi^'^v 

NAIL  UAL    PITCH    Oh     Sunt.. 

"Every  person  has  some  pitch  of  voice  in  which  he  con- 
verses, sings,  and  speaks  with  greater  effect  and  facility 
than  in  any  other.  It  should  be  an  object  of  constant 
solicitude,  with  every  person  who  desires  to  become  a  good 
reader  or  speaker,  to  find  what  the  natural  pitch  of  hia 
voice  is,  and  when  he  has  discovered  this,  let  him  practice 
with  reference  to  it,  until  he  is  able  instantly  to  bring  the 
voice  from  a  high  or  a  low  to  a  natural  pitch." 

To  discover  (he  natural  pitch  of  the  voicc^  let  the  pupil 
read  or  speak  a  didactic  passage,  in  different  pitches  or  keys 
of  voice:  after  a  few  efforts  he  will  be  able  to  discover  the 
natural  key  or  pitch,  from  its  adaptation  to  his  voice.  If 
the  pupil,  when  thus  experimenting,  finds  that  the  pitch  is 
wrong,  let  him  suspend  the  effort  for  awhile,  then  renew  his 
endeavors  until  he  finds  the  right  one. 

BAD   EPPECT8  WHICH    RESULT   FROM    HABITUALLY  SPEAKING 
IN    TOO    HIGH    A    KEY. 

Speaking  rapidly,  with  great  force  on  a  high  pitch,  but 
a  short  time,  tends  to  tighten  and  render  rigid  the  muscles 
of  the  throat  and  neck,  and  makes  it  exceedingly  difficult 
for  the  speaker  to  procee'd.  It,  also,  excites  thirst,  which 
increases  every  time  the  speaker  takes  any  thing  to  quench 
it.  In  a  short  time  the  lungs  become  so  wearied  that  they 
can  scarcely  perform  their  functions:  the  speaker's  memory 
grows  confused,  his  thoughts  obscure,  his  language  vague 
and  indefinite,  and  his  brain  so  sluggish  and  dizzy,  that  he 
is  not  unfrcquently  compelled  to  stop,  or  is  stricken  down 
n  an  apoplectic  fit. 

WHAT    THE    SPEAKER   SHOULD   DO   WHEN    HE    FINDS    HIS 
VOICE    IS    NOT    PITCHED    RIGHT. 

"When  the  speaker  finds  that  he  is  talking  in  a  key  io 
which  he  can  not  control  his  voice,  he  should  stop  at  once, 
and,  after  resting  for  a  few  moments,  change  the  style  and 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  87 

manner  of  his  discourse;  as  frgin  the  argumentative  to  the 
oidactic,  descriptive,  or  narrative,  as  the  case  may  require. 

NEVER    DRINK    WHILE    EXERCISINQ    THE    VOICE. 

The  habit  which  most  public  speakers  indulge  of  fre- 
quently drinking  while  speaking,  is  a  very  bad  one,  and 
most  injurious  to  the  vocal  organs.  The  thirst  which  many 
speakers  experience  on  coming  before  an  audience  can  not 
be  alleviated  by  drinking:  it  will  disappear  as  soon  as  the 
speaker  becomes  perfectly  self-possessed,  and  feels  himself 
at  home  in  his  subject,  and  not  before.  The  more  a  person 
drinks  when  speaking,  the  more  thirsty  he  becomes,  and 
the  more  difficulty  he  experiences  in  managing  his  voice. 
There  is  no  necessity  for  drinking  while  exercising  the 
voice,  no  matter  how  Ion?  or  how  severe  the  exercise  may 
be. 

TOBACCO    INJLUIOL'S    TO    THE   VOICE. 

The  use  of  tobacco,  in  any  form,  has  a  deleterious  effect 
upon  the  speaking  and  breathing  organs.  It  enfeebles  the 
nervous  system  and  tends  to  make  the  voice  dry,  harsh, 
husky  and  inflexible. 

Public  speakers  who  are  votaries  of  the  weed,  if  they  can 
not  give  it  up  entirely,  ought,  by  all  means,  to  refrain  from 
the  use  of  it  for  several  hours  previous  to  speaking  or  en- 
gaging in  any  publicvocal  exercise.  For  this  brief  season 
of  self-denial  they  will  be  rewarded  by  a  clearness  and  full- 
ness of  tone,  and  a  floxihijity  of  voice  which  will  surprise 
and  delight  them 

STIMULANTS   INJURIOUS   TO   THE   VOICE. 

The  public  speaker  or  actor,  who  is  in  the  habit  of  taking 
a  dram  or  two  before  commencing  his  performance,  and  an 
occasional  sip  during  its  continuance,  hardly  ever  gets 
through  with  what  he  nndertakes  in  a  creditable  manner. 

The  speaker  excited  by  strong  drink,  usually  speaks  with 
the  utmost  force,  at  the  top  of  his  voice;  the  natural  conse 
qucnce   is.   his  memory  grows   treacherous,    his   judgment 
bewildered,  while  the  organs  of  the  voice  and  throat  become 
irritritcd  ntul  inflani.  rl      I ToarsenGf>8  ensues,  which  he  tries  to 


88  ELOCUTION. 

overcome  by  speaking  in  still  louder  tones;  the  result  is. 
his  voice  soon  breaks  into  a  husky,  squeaking  tone,  or 
becomes  so  thick  and  intensely  guttural,  that  the  words  he 
tries  to  utter  are  lost  in  an  inarticulate  croaking. 

Never  resort  to  stimulants  of  any  kind  to  raise  the  spirits 
or  strengthen  the  voice.  The  excitement  they  produce  in 
the  system  is  unnatural,  and,  of  course,  injurious;  and  the 
strength  which  they  create  is  certain  to  be  followed  by  a 
corresponding  prostration  of  power. 

HOW     TO     CRITICISK      Till.      ELOCUTION     OF     A     READER     OR 
SPEAKER. 

By  committing  the  following  questions  thoroughly  to 
memory,  the  reader,  if  he  fully  understands  the  rules  and 
principles  which  have  been  discussed  in  this  treatise,  will 
be  able  to  analyze  and  criticise  fully  and  accurately,  so  far 
as  relates  to  its  elocution,  any  reading  or  speaking  perform- 
ance to  which  he  may  listen. 

The  plan  is  simple,  yet,  as  far  as  it  goes,  perfectly  adapted 
to  the  end  in  view.  Each  question  suggests  the  proper 
answer,  and  the  answer  gives  the  information  sought  upon 
that  particular  point. 

The  student  ought,  in  this  way,  to  criticise  his  own  read- 
ing and  speaking,  and  when  the  investigation  results  in  the 
discovery  of  some  defect  in  delivery,  he  should  at  once  cor- 
rect it. 

1.  Does  he  breathe  naturally  and  at  proper  intervals,  as 
he  proceeds  in  his  discourse?  If  not,  in  what  respect  does 
he  fail  to  observe  the  necessary  conditions? 

2.  Is  his  voice  clear,  pure,  full,  resonant  and  agreeable? 

3.  Is  his  articulation  distinct  and  accurate,  without  being 
unnecessarily  precise  ?     If  not,  what  are  his  faults  ? 

4.  Does  he  open  his  mouth  wide  enough  to  give  full 
effect  to  the  words  uttered,  without  going  to  the  extreme  of 
mouthing  ? 

5.  Does  he  modulate  his  voice  correctly,  as  relates  to 
pitch  ;  or  does  he  habitually  speak  in  the  same  key  ? 

6.  Does  he  speak  in  too  high  or  in  too  low  a  pitch? 


VOCAL    CULTURE.  89 

7.  Does  he  indulge  in  unbecoming  transitions  in  pitch, 
M  by  changing  too  suddenly  or  too  frequently  from  a  very 
low  and  subdued,  to  a  very  high  and  loud  tone  ? 

8.  Does  he  employ  the  different  forms  of  stress,  with 
suitable  variety  and  proper  effect  ? 

9.  Has  he  a  good  command  of  the  swell  and  wave,  of 
the  expulsive  radical,  and  the  explosive  radical  stress? 

10.  Does  he  manage  the  voice  with  taste  and  judijfflent, 
in  modulating  the  force  to  suit  the  sentiment? 

11.  Does  ho  employ  too  much  force,  or  not  er^ugh? 

12.  Does  he  give  proper  quantity  to  tho  ^pen  vowel 
Bounds,  the  nasals,  and  liquids,  without  lelv.^g  them  run 
into  a  singing  or  drawling  tone? 

13.  Does  he  terminate  sentences  and  pannages  in  which 
the  sense  is  complete,  with  a  correct  and  picasing  cadence? 
•  14.  Does  he  mark  his  parentheses,  paragraphs,  and 
changes  of  subjects,  by  proper  chancca  in  pitch,  force, 
stress,  quantity,  quality,  and  movemencr 

15.  Does  ho  speak  too  fast,  or  too  mow,  or  has  he  uni- 
formly about  the  same  rate  of  utterance  ? 

IG.  In  interrogation,  docs  he  look  and  speak  as  if  he  were 
really  asking  a  question,  and  felt  interested  in  the  answer 
he  might  receive? 

17.  In  narration,  are  his  looks,  tone,  and  manner,  such 
M  you  can  conceive  they  would  be,  were  he  relating  some 
part  of  his  own  experience  ? 

18.  When  he  attempts  a  description,. does  h'.  proceed  as 
though  he  had  himself  seen,  heard,  felt,  or  ip  ^qj  way  known 
that  which  he  tries  to  describe? 

19.  In  didactic  discourse,  is  his  muunci  colloquial  and 
familiar,  as  though  he  were  actually  engaged  in  imparting 
instruction  ? 

20.  Does  ho  bring  out  the  meaning  of  the  author  from 
whom  he  reads,  or  express  his  own  sentiments  in  an  elegant, 
forcible,  clear,  impressive,  and  appropriate  manner? 

21.  Do  his  tone  and  manner  indicate  that  ho  undersianda 
and  feels  what  he  says;  or  Is  there  any  thing  in  his  de- 
livery which  excites  the  suspicion  that  he  docs  not  under 
«tand  his  subject,  or  that  he  is  not  sincere? 

KiDD.— 8 


9G  KLOCUTION. 

22.  Does  he  have  a  style  of  his  own,  or  does  he  try  to 
imitate  the  style  of  another? 

23.  In  reading  or  declamation,  is  his  manner  earnest  and 
natural,  or  does  he  try  to  make  too  much  of  his  piece,  by 
the  exhibition  of  unnecessary  passion  or  excitement? 

24.  What  are  the  distinguishing  peculiarities  of  his  man- 
ner? Is  he  pedantic,  pompous,  timid,  theatrical,  ministerial, 
effeminate,  manly,  irascible,  simpering,  impudent,  sullen, 
tame,  vehement,  conceited,  or  affected? 

25.  Is  he  addicted  to  mouthing,  sniffling,  ranting,  whin- 
ing, or  any  other  improper  habit,  in  reading  or  speaking? 

26.  When  he  attempts  to  portray  passion,  are  the  tones 
of  his  voice,  his  look,  gestures,  and  action  appropriate  to  the 
sentiment  expressed? 

27.  In  imitation  and  personation,  does  he  give  distinct 
individuality  to  the  character  he  personates? 

28.  Does  he  appear  to  have  a  clear  and  correct  concep- 
tion of  the  subject  of  his  personation?  If  not,  in  what 
does  his  fault  consist? 

29.  Are  the  expression  of  the  face,  the  position  of  the 
head,  the  attitude,  and  the  action,  suited  to  the  subject  and 
the  occasion? 

30.  Do  his  look,  tone,  and  manner  change  with  the  sen- 
timent, or  do  his  features  bear  the  same  expression,  and  his 
attitude  and  action  continue  essentially  the  same? 

31.  Does  he  look  his  audience  in  the  face,  or  does  he 
cast  his  eye  upon  vacancy  or  let  it  wander  in  every  direc- 
tion but  the  right  one? 

32.  In  his  reading,  declamation,  and  extemporaneous 
utterance  of  his  own  thoughts,  does  he  seem  to  understand 
and  make  a  proper  application  of  the  rules  and  principles 
explained  and  illustrated  in  the  preceding  pages  of  thi* 
treatise? 

CONCLUSION. 

In  conclusion,  I  commend  the  careful  study  of  "Hamleti 
advice  to  the  players,"  to  every  one  who  desires  to  become 
an  accomplished  reader,  or  an  elegant  speaker.  It  is,  in 
itself,  a  compendium  of  Elocutionary  instruction 


vocal    odlturb.  91 

hamlet's  advice  to  the  players. 

dpeak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you, 
trippingly  on  the  tongue.  But,  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 
of  our  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  had  spoken 
my  lines.  And  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your 
hands;  but  use  all  gently:  for,  in  the  very  torrent,  tern- 
pesfj  and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you 
must  beget  a  temperance  that  will  give  it  smoothness. 

Oh!  it  oflfends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious,  peri, 
wig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags,  to 
split  the  ears  of  the  oroundlinos;  who  (for  the  most  part) 
are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  shows  and 
noise.     Pray  you  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame,  either;  but  let  your  own  discretion  be 
your  tutor.  Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the 
action — with  this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not 
the.modjsty  of  nature;  for  any  thing  so  overdone,  is  from 
the  purpose  of  playing;  whose  end  is,  to  hold,  as  it  were, 
the  mirror  up  to  nature:  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature, 
scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the 
times,  their  form  and  pressure. 

Now,  this  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  may 
make  the  unskillful  laugh,  can  not  but  make  the  judicious 
grieve;  the  censure  of  one  of  which,  must,  in  your  allow- 
ance, outweigh  a  whole  theater  of  others.  Oh!  there  are 
players  that  I  have  seen  play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and 
that,  highly — not  to  speak  it  profanely — who,  having  neither 
the  accent  of  Christian,  nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor 
man,  have  so  strutted  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought 
some  of  Nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not  mado 
them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so  abominably. 

suakspeabc. 


92  ELOCUTION. 


MODULATION. 


1.  Tis  not  enough  the  voice  be  sound  and  clear, 
'T  is  modulation  that  must  charm  the  ear. 

That  voice  all  modes  of  passion  can  express, 
Which  marks  the  proper  word  witli  proper  stresn : 
But  nouc  emphatic  can  that  speaker  call, 
Who  lays  an  equal  emphasis  on  all. 
Some,  o'er  the  tongue  tlie  labored  measures  roll, 
Slow  and  deliberate  as  the  parting  toll ; 
Point  every  stop,  mark  every  pause  so  strong. 
Their  words  like  stage  processions  stalk  along. 

2.  All  affectation  but  creates  disgust; 
And  e'en  in  speaking,  we  may  seem  too  just. 
In  vain  for  them  the  pleasing  measure  flows 
Whose  recitation  runs  it  all  to  prose; 
Repeating  what  the  poet  sets  not  down, 

The  verb  disjointing  from  ita  favorite  nouu, 
While  pause,  and  break,  and  repetition  join 
To  make  a  discord  in  each  tuneful  line. 

3.  Some  placid  natures  fill  the  nllotted  scene 
With  lifeless  drawls,  insipid  and  serene ; 
While  others  thunder  every  couplet  o'er. 

And  almost  crack  your  ears  with  rant  and  roar. 
More  nature  oft,  and  finer  strokes  are  shown 
In  the  low  whisper,  than  temptestuous  tone; 
And  Hamlet's  hollow  voice  and  fixed  amaze, 
More  powerful  terror  to  the  mind  conveys. 
Than  he,  who,  swollen  with  impetuous  rage. 
Bullies  the  bulky  phantom  of  the  stage. 

4.  He  who,  in  earnest,  studies  o'er  his  part, 
Will  find  true  nature  cling  about  his  heart. 
The  modes  of  grief  are  not  included  all 

[n  the  white  handkerchief  and  mournful  drawl  ■ 
A  single  look  more  marks  the  internal  woe. 
Than  all  the  windings  of  the  lenghtened  Oh ! 
Up  to  the  face  the  quick  sensation  flies, 
And  darts  its  meaning  from  the  speaking  eyes: 
Love,  transport,  madness,  anger,  scorn,  despair. 
And  all  the  passions,  all  the  soul  is  there. 

LLOTD. 


EXERCISES. 

l^AJnJAriVK    AND    DESCKIPTIVE. 


EXERCISE   I.— A   TROVIDENTIAL  GUEST. 

1.  A  WIDOW  at  Dort,  in  Holland,  who  was  very  industri- 
ous, was  left  by  her  husband  with  a  comfortable  house,  some 
land,  and  two  boats  for  carrying  merchandise  and  passen- 
gers on  the  canals.  She  was  also  supposed  to  be  worth  ten 
thousand  guilders  in  ready  money,  which  she  employed  in  a 
sail-cloth  manufactory  for  the  purpose  of  increasing  her 
fortune,  and  instructing  her  children,  a  son  and  two  daugh- 
ters, in  useful  branches  of  business. 

2.  One  night,  about  nine  o'clock,  in  the  year  1785,  a 
person  dressed  in  uniform,  with  a  musket  and  broad-sword, 
came  to  her  house,  and  requested  lodging.  "  I  let  no  lodg- 
ings, friend,"  said  the  widow;  "and  besides  I  have  no  spare 
bed,  unless  you  sleep  with  my  son,  which  I  think  very  im- 
proper, on  account  of  your  being  a  perfect  stranger  to  us  all.  " 
The  soldier  then  showed  a  discharge  from  Diesbach's  reg- 
iment, signed  by  the  major,  who  gave  him  an  excellent 
character,  and  a  passport  from  the  governor  of  Breda.  The 
widow,  believing  the  stranger  to  be  an  honest  man,  called 
her  son,  and  asked  him  if  ho  would  accommodate  a  veteran, 
who  had  served  the  republic  thirty  years  with  reputation, 
nith  part  of  his  bed.  The  young  man  consented;  the  sol- 
dier was  accordingly  hospitably  entertained,  and  at  a  sea- 
MDnable  hour  withdrew  to  rest. 

3.  Some  hours  afterward,  a  loud  knock  was  heard  at  the 
street  door,  which  roused  the  soldier,  who  moved  softly 
down  stairs,  and  listened  at  the  hall-door,  when  the  blow« 
wore   repeated,  and   the   door  almost  broken  through  by  a 

93 


94  BLOODTION. 

sledge,  or  Home  heavy  instrument.  By  this  time  the  widow 
and  her  daughters  were  much  alarmed  by  this  violent  attack, 
and  ran  almost  frantic  through  different  parts  of  the  house, 
exclaiming,  "Murder!  murder!"  The  son,  having  joined 
the  soldier,  with  a  case  of  loaded  pistols,  and  the  latter, 
screwing  on  his  bayonet,  and  fresh  priming  his  piece,  whicli 
was  charged  with  slugs,  requested  the  women  to  keap  them- 
selves in  a  back  room  out  of  the  way  of  danger. 

4.  Soon  after  the  door  was  burst  in,  two  ruffians  ent^jred, 
and  were  instantly  shot  by  the  son.  Two  other  associates 
of  the  dead  men  immediately  returned  the  fire,  but  without 
effect;  when  the  veteran  stranger,  taking  immediate  advan- 
tage of  the  discharge  of  their  arms,  rushed  on  them  like  a 
lion,  ran  one  through  the  body  with  his  bayonet,  and  while 
the  other  was  running  away,  lodged  the  contents  of  his 
piece  between  his  shoulders,  and  he  dropped  dead  on  the 
spot.  The  son  and  the  stranger  then  closed  the  door  a« 
well  as  they  could,  re-loaded  their  arms,  made  a  good  fire, 
and  watched  till  daylight. 

5.  When  the  weavers  and  spinners  of  the  manufactory 
came  to  resume  their  employment,  they  were  struck  with 
horror  and  surprise,  at  seeing  four  men  dead  near  the  house, 
where  the  soldier  had  dragged  them,  before  he  closed  the  door 
leading  to  the  street.  The  burgomaster  attended,  and  took 
the  depositions  of  the  family  relative  to  the  affair.  The 
bodies  of  the  ruflfians  were  buried  in  a  cross  road,  and  a 
stone  erected  over  the  grave,  with  a  suitable  inscription. 
The  widow  presented  the  soldier,  who  was  seventy  years  old, 
with  one  hundred  guilders,  and  the  city  settled  a  handsome 
pension  on  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 


U.— THE  HEART'S  CHARITY. 

1.   A  RICH  man  walked  abroad  one  day, 
And  a  poor  man  walked  the  self-same  way, 
When  a  pale  and  starving  face  came  by, 
With  a  pallid  lip  and  a  hopeless  eye ; 
And  that  starving  face  presumed  to  stand 
And  ask  for  bread  from  the  rich  man's  hand 


NARRATIVE.  9ft 

But  the  rich  man  sallenly  looked  askance, 
With  a  gathering  frown  and  a  doubtful  glance: 
"  I  have  nothing,"  said  he,  "  to  give  to  you. 
Nor  any  such  rogue  of  a  canting  crew ;" 
And  he  fastened  his  pocket,  and  on  he  went, 
With  his  soul  untouched  and  his  conscience  content 

2.  Now  this  great  owner  of  golden  store 
ITad  built  a  church  not  long  before; 

As  noble  a  fane  as  man  could  raise. 

And  the  world  had  given  him  thanks  and  praise ; 

And  all  who  beheld  it  lavished  fame 

On  his  Christian  gift  and  godly  name. 

3.  The  poor  man  passed,  and  the  white  lips  darbu 
To  ask  of  him  if  a  mite  could  be  spared; 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  but  n'-t  to  pause 

On  the  truth  of  the  tale,  or  the  parish  laws ; 

He  was  seeking  to  give — though  it  was  but  small, 

Fc*"  n  penny,  a  single  penny  was  all, 

_iut  he  gave  it  with  a  kindly  word. 

While  the  warmest  pulse  in  his  heart  was  stirred. 

'Twas  a  tiny  seed  his  charity  shed, 

But  the  white  lips  got  a  taste  of  bread, 

And  the  beggar's  blessing  hallowed  the  crust 

That  came  like  a  spring  in  the  desert  dust. 

4.  The  rich  man  and  the  poor  man  died, 
As  all  of  us  must ;  and  they  both  were  tried 
At  the  sacred  judgment-seat  above. 

For  their  thoughts  of  evil  and  deeds  of  love. 
The  balance  of  justice  there  was  true, 
And  fairly  l)e8towed  what  fairly  was  due ; 
And  the  two  fresh  comers  at  heaven's  gate 
Stood  waiting  to  learn  their  eternal  fate. 

5.  The  recording  angel  told  of  things 
That  fitted  them  both  with  kindred  wingH; 
But  as  they  stood  in  the  crystal  light, 

The  plumes  of  the  rich  man  grew  less  bright. 
The  angels  knew  by  that  shadowy  sign 
That  the  poor  man's  work  had  been  most  divine. 
And  they  brought  the  unerring  scales  to  see 
Where  the  rich  man's  falling  off  could  he. 


ELOCUTION. 

6.  Full  many  deeds  mgeU  weigh. 
But  the  balance  kept  au  cvrii  sway, 

And  at  last  thb  church  endowment  laid 

With  its  thousands  promised  and  thousands  paid, 

With  the  thanks  of  prelates  by  its  side, 

In  the  stately  words  of  pious  pride ; 

And  it  weighed  so  much  that  the  angels  stood 

To  see  how  the  poor  man  could  balance  such  good. 

7.  A  cherub  came  and  took  his  place 
By  the  empty  scale,  with  a  radiant  grace. 
And  he  dropped  the  penny  that  had  fed 
White  starving  lips  with  a  crust  of  bread ; 

The  church  endowment  went  up  with  the  beam, 
And  the  whisper  of  the  great  Supreme, 
As  he  beckoned  the  poor  man  to  his  throne, 
Was  heard  in  this  immortal  tone: 
"Blessed  are  they  who  from  great  gain 
usands  with  a  reasoning  brain, 
..w    .,   .ior  still  shall  be  his  part 
Who  gives  one  coin  \vitli  a  pitying  heart!" 

E.   COOK. 


III.— LOSS   OF   THE   CENTHAI.    AMERICA. 

1.  Behold  tlie  pit  at  ship,  of  whose  stanchness  there 
was  not  a  c'onbt  in  full  five  hundred  bosoms,  that  beat  joy- 
ousiy,  with  a  common  but  precious  throb  of  expectancy, 
soon  to  be  clasped  to  kindred  bosoms  at  home.  Behold 
that  ship,  overtaken  by  the  swift  speed  of  the  tempest,  and 
after  three  days  ol"  prand  resistance  to  its  wild  scourgings, 
suceuuibiiig  suddenly  to  its  overmastering  power.  When 
the  infuriated  floods  put  out  the  great  fires  that  glowed 
within  her  heart,  and  stopped  the  mighty  pulsations  of 
her  machinery,  hope  of  her  rescue  from  destruction  died 
within  their  souls.  A  night  and  a  day  they  were  relent- 
lessly tossed  on  the  maddened  waves,  by  the  unabated  fury 
of  the  storm.  Many  had  with  them  great  treasures  from 
the  mines  —  earned,  at  the  cost  of  exile  from  the  loved 
ones,  to  whom  they  were  bearing  back  the  coveted  gold, 
which  was  to  transmute  poverty  into  luxury  and  pain  into 
delisrht. 


NARRATIVE.  97 

2.  Behold  those  delvers  in  the  mines — making  thcni' 
selves  ready  for  the  inevitable  band-to-hand  battle  with  the 
billows !  How  few  think  of  their  treasures !  The  gold  gleams 
vainly  on  their  sight.  Its  precious  accretions  through 
months  of  toil  are  forgotten,  or  despised  in  the  paralysis 
of  hope,  or  in  the  transport  of  terror.  The  frail  floor  that 
q'livers  between  living  men  and  the  hungry  jaws  of  death, 
j«  sown  deep  with  golden  grains,  that  in  another  hour  than 
this  of  shipwreck  would  have  seemed,  to  now  lusterless  eyes, 
to  infold  vast  harvests  of  happiness. 

3.  The  awful  horror  of  the  closing  act  of  this  tragedy 
is  mitigated  by  the  blessed  deliverance  of  all  the  women  and 
children,  and  some  of  the  brave  men  upon  the  doomed  ship. 
When  night  descended  upon  the  sea,  and  vailed  the  great 
death-scene  with  her  black  shroud,  the  helpless  ship  sud- 
denly hid  her  desolation  from  mortal  eyes,  beneath  the  wild 
waves;  but  among  the  four  hundred  victims  whom  she  de- 
spairingly surrendered  to  the  arms  of  her  conqueror,  there 
was  not  one  woman — not  one  child.  The  shriek  of  agony 
that  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  sinking  multitude  had  no 
piercing  treble  note  in  its  sepulchral  diapason.  It  was  the 
deep  death-cry  of  men,  of  brave-hearted  men  alone. 

4.  But  I  forbear.  The  sorrow  of  that  scene  is  too 
Awful  for  words.  When  the  agony  ceased  upon  the  sea  it. 
was  only  to  break  forth  afresh  upon  the  land.  Who  shall 
measure  it?  Who  shall  trace  its  tear-stained  path  over  this 
continent?  Who  shall  count  the  broken  hearts  and  ruined 
hopes  of  this  dread  ravage?  None  but  God.  None  but 
He  who  let  the  tempest  loose  that  made  the  ship  its  prey; 
none  but  He  who  alone  can  bind  up  the  bleeding  hearts, 
and  inspire  with  brighter  hopes  those  whose  hopes  on  earth 
this  woe  has  blighted ;  none  but  He  of  whom  not  one  of  us 
ill  dares  to  ask  the  question, — 'What  doest  Thou?'  none 
but  He  to  whom  every  stricken  victim  of  the  calamity  we 
deplore  may  say  with  reverent  lips — 'Even  so.  Father,  for 
thus  it  seemeth  good  in  Thy  sight.' 

aiGHA&DS. 
KlDD— 9 


98  ELOCUTION. 

IV.— THE  PASS   OF  DEATH. 

1.  It  was  a  narrow  pass, 

Watered  with  human  tears. 
For  Death  had  kept  gate 

Almost  six  thousa 
And  the  ceaseless  ti  ■  orld's  feet 

Was  ever  in  my  cars — 
Thronging,  jostling,  hurrying  by. 
As  if  they  were  only  Itorn  to  die. 

2.  A  stately  king  drew  near 

This  narrow  pass  to  tre&d, 
Around  him  hung  a  gorgeous  robe. 

And  a  crown  was  on  his  head ; 
But  Death,  with  a  look  of  \viihering  scorn. 

Arrested  him  and  said : 
'•  In  humbler  dress  must  the  king  n , 

For  the  crown  and  the  purple  are  ustit:>s  iiere." 

3.  Next  came  "  "  ""  ^?  wealth. 

And  his  proud  and  bnul, 

And  he  bore  m  nis  hand  a  lengthy  scroll, 

Telling  of  sums  untold ; 
But  Death,  who  careth  not  for  rank, 

Careth  as  little  for  gold: 
"  Here  that  scroll  I  can  not  allow. 
For  the  gold  of  the  richest  is  powerless  now." 

4.  Another  followed  fast, 

And  a  book  was  in  his  hand, 
Filled  with  the  flashes  of  burning  thought 

That  are  known  in  many  a  land ; 
But  the  child  of  genius  quailed  to  hear 

Death's  pitiless  demand  : 
"  Here  that  book  can  not  enter  with  thee, 
For  the  bright  flash  of  genius  is  nothing  to  me 

5.  Next  came  a  maiden  f\iir, 

With  that  eye  so  deeply  bright. 
That  stirs  within  you  strange  sweet  care, 

Should  you  meet  on  a  summer  night ; 
But  death,  ere  the  gentle  maid  passed  through, 

Snatched  away  its  light: 
"  Beauty  is  power  in  the  world,"  he  saith, 
"  But  what  can  it  do  in  the  Pass  of  Death  ?" 


NARRATIVE.  99 

A  youth  of  sickly  mien 

Followed  in  thouglitful  mood, 
Whose  heart  was  filled  with  love  to  God 

And  the  early  brotherhood; 
Death  felt  he  eould  not  quench  the  heart 

That  lived  for  others'  good : 
"  I  own,"  cried  he,  "  the  power  of  love, 
I  must  let  it  pass  to  the  realms  above !'' 


v.— THE  BLACKSMITH  OF  RAGENBACH. 

1.  In  the  principality  of  Hohenlohc,  now  a  part  of  tLd 
cingdom  of  Wirtemberg,  is  a  village  called  llageubach, 
where,  about  twenty  years  ago,  the  following  event  took 
place:  one  afternoon  in  early  autumn,  in  the  tavern -room 
of  Ragenbach,  several  men  and  women,  assembled  from  the 
village,  sat  at  their  ease.  The  smith  formed  one  of  the 
merry  company — he  was  a  strong,  man,  with  resolute  coun- 
tenance and  daring  mien,  but  with  such  a  good-natured 
smile  on  his  lips  that  every  one  who  saw  him  admired 
him.  His  arms  were  like  bars  of  iron  and  his  fist  like 
a  forge-hammer,  so  that  few  could  equal  him  in  strength  of 
body. 

2.  The  smith  sat  near  the  door  chatting  with  one  of 
his  neighbors,  when  all  at  once  the  door  opened,  and 
a  dog  came  staggering  into  the  room,  a  great,  powerful 
beast,  with  a  frightful  aspect;  his  head  hanging  down, 
his  eyes  bloodshot,  his  lead-colored  tongue  half  way  out 
of  his  mouth,  and  his  tail  dropped  between  his  legs. 
Thus  the  ferocious  beast  entered  the  room,  out  of  which 
there  was  no  escape  but  by  one  door.  Scarcely  had  the 
smith's  neighbor,  who  was  bath-keeper  of  the  place,  seen 
the  animal,  than  he  became  deadly  pale,  sprang  up  and 
exclaimed,  in  a  horrified  voioe,  "Good  heavens!  the  dog  la 
mad!" 

3.  Then  rose  a  terrible  outcry.  The  room  was  full  of  men 
and  women,  and  the  foaming  beast  stood  before  the  only 
entrance:  no  one  could  leave  without  passing  him.  He 
snapped  savagely  right  a:  no  one   could  pass  him 


100  ELOCUTION. 

without  being  bitten.  This  increased  the  fearful  confusion. 
With  horror  depicted  upon  their  countenances,  all  sprang  up 
and  shrunk  from  the  dog.  Who  should  deliver  them  from 
him?  The  smith  also  stood  among  them,  and,  as  ho  saw  th« 
anguish  of  the  people,  it  flashed  across  his  mind  how  many 
of  his  happy  and  contented  neighbors  would  be  made 
Qiiscrable  by  a  mad  dog,  and  he  formed  a  resolution,  the 
like  of  which  is  scarcely  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race,  for  noble  self-devotion. 

4.  "Back  all!"  thundered  he,  in  a  deep,  strong  voice 
•'  Let  no  one  stir,  for  none  can  vanquish  the  beast  but 
mc!  One  victim  must  fall,  in  order  to  save  the  rest;  I  will 
be  that  victim;  I  will  hold  the  brute,  and  while  I  do  so, 
m::Lo  wu«ir  escape."  The  smith  had  scarcely  spoken  these 
words  when  the  dog  started  toward  the  shrieking  people. 
Hut  he  went  not  far.  "With  God's  help,"  cried  the  smith, 
and  he  rushed  upon  the  foaming  beast,  seized  him  with  an 
iron  grasp,  and  dashed  him  to  the  floor.  A  terrible  struggle 
followed.  The  dog  bit  furiously  on  every  side  in  a  frightful 
manner.  His  long  teeth  tore  the  arms  and  thighs  of  the 
heroic  smith,  but  he  would  not  let  him  loose.  Regardless 
alike  of  the  excessive  pain  and  the  horrible  death  which 
must  ensue,  he  held  down  with  an  iron  grasp,  the  snapping, 

»  howling  brute,  till  all  had  escaped. 

5.  He  then  flung  the  half-strangled  beast  from  him 
against  the  wall,  and  dripping  with  blood  and  venomous 
foam  he  left  the  room,  locking  the  door  after  him.  Some 
persons  then  shot  the  dog  through  the  windows.  Weeping 
and  lamenting,  the  people  surrounded  him  who  had  saved 
their  lives,  at  the  expense  of  his  own.  "Be  quiet,  do  not 
weep  for  me,"  he  said,  "one  must  die  in  order  to  save  the 
others.  Do  not  thank  me — I  have  only  performed  my  duty. 
When  I  am  dead,  think  of  me  with  love,  and  now  pray  for 
oie,  that  God  will  not  let  me  suffer  long,  nor  too  much.  I. 
will  take  care  that  no  further  mischief  shall  occur  through 
me,  for  I  must  certainly  become  mad." 

6.  He  went  straight  to  his  workshop  and  selected  a  strong 
chain,  the  heaviest  and  firmest  from  his  whole  stock;  then, 
with  his  own  hands,  welded  it  upon  his  limbs,  and  around 


NARRATIVE.  lOi 

tbo  anvil  iirmly.  "There,"  said  liej  "  it^  is' 3onc,**'  after 
having  silently  and  solemnly  completed  the  work.  "Now 
you  are  secured,  and  I  am  inoffensive.  So  long  as  I  live 
bring  me  my  food.  The  rest  I  leave  to  God;  into  his 
hands  I. commend  my  spirit."  Nothing  could  save  the 
brave  smith,  neither  tears,  lamentations  nor  prayers.  Mad- 
ness seized  him,  and  after  nine  days  he  died.  lie  died,  but 
his  memory  will  live  from  generation  to  generation,  and 
will  be  venerated  to  the  end  of  time.  Search  history 
through,  and  you  will  not  find  an  action  more  glorious  and 
sublime  than  the  deed  of  this  simple-minded  man — tha 
•mith  of  Rage n bach. 


VI.— THE  LIFE-BOAT. 


1,  Quick!  man  the  life-boat!     See  yon  bark 

That  drives  before  the  blast! 
There's  a  rock  a-head,  the  •:i»ht  is  dark, 

And  the  storm  coraeb  unck  and  fast. 
Can  human  power  in  such  an  hour, 

Avert  the  doom  that's  o'er  her? 
Her  mainmast's  gone,  but  she  still  drives  on 

To  the  fatal  reef  before  her. 
The  life-boat!    Man  the  life-boat! 

2.  Quick!  man  the  life-boat!  hark!  the  gun 

Booms  through  the  vapory  air; 
And  see!  the  signal  flags  are  on, 

And  speak  the  ship's  despair. 
That  forked  flash,  that  pealing  crash, 

Seemed  from  the  wave  to  sweep  her: 
She's  on  the  rock,  with  a  terrible  shock, 

And  the  wail  comes  louder  and  deeper. 
The  life-boat!    Man  the  life-boat! 

8   Quick !  mat.  the  life-boat !    See — the  crew 

Gaze  on  their  watery  grave: 
Already,  some,  a  gallant  few, 

Are  battling  with  the  wave; 
And  one  there  stands,  and  wrings  his  hand«, 

As  thoughts  of  home  come  o'er  him; 


132  ELOCUTION. 

Foi  his  wife  and  child,  through  the  tempest  wild« 
He  sees  on  the  highta  before  liim. 
Tho  lifo-boat  I     Man  the  life-boat ! 

4.  Speed,  speed  the  life-boat !    Off  she  goes ! 

And,  as  they  pulled  the  oar, 
From  shore  and  ship  a  cheer  arose, 

That  rang  from  ship  to  shore. 
Lifc-saviiig  ark!  yon  fated  bark 

Has  human  lives  within  her ; 
And  dearer  than  gold  is  the  wealth  untold, 

Thou'lt  save,  if  thou  canst  win  her. 
On,  life-boat  1    Speed  thee,  life-boat  I 

5.  Hurrah!  the  life-boat  dashes  on, 

Though  darkly  the  reef  may  frown  ; 
The  rock  is  there — the  ship  is  gone 

Full  twenty  fathoms  down. 
But,  cheered  by  hope,  the  seamen  cope 

With  the  billows  single-handed: 
They  are  all  in  the  boat! — hurra!  they're  afloat  I 

And  now  they  are  safely  landed 
By  the  life-boat!     Cheer  the  life-boat! 


VII.— THE  MISER. 

1.  An  old  man  sat  by  a  fireless  hearth, 

Though  the  night  was  dark  and  chill. 
And  mournfully  over  the  frozen  earth 

The  wind  sobbed  loud  and  shrill. 
His  locks  were  gray,  and  his  eyes  were  gray, 

And  dim,  but  not  with  tears; 
And  his  skeleton  form  had  wasted  away 

With  penury,  more  than  years. 

2.  A  rush-light  was  casting  its  fitful  glare 

O'er  the  damp  and  dingy  walls, 
Where  the  lizard  hath  made  his  slimy  lair. 

And  the  venomous  spider  crawls ; 
But  the  meanest  thing  in  this  lonesome  room 

Was  the  miser  worn  and  bare, 
Where  he  sat  like  a  ghost  in  an  empty  tomb 

On  his  broken  and  only  chair. 


NARRATIVE.  103 

8.  He  had  bolted  the  window,  and  barred  the  door, 

And  every  nook  had  scanned; 
And  felt  the  fastening  o'er  and  o'er, 

With  his  cold  and  skinny  hand ; 
And  yet  ho  sat  gazing  intently  round, 

And  trembled  with  silent  fear, 
And  startled  and  shuddered  at  every  sound 

That  fell  on  his  coward  ear. 

4.  "Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  miser;  "I'm  safe  at  last, 

From  this  night  so  cold  and  drear, 
From  the  drenching  rain  and  driving  blast, 

With  my  gold  and  treasures  here. 
I  am  cold  and  wet  with  the  icy  rain. 

And  my  health  is  bad,  'tis  true ; 
Yet  if  I  should  light  that  fire  again. 

It  would  cost  me  a  cent  or  two. 

5.  But  I  '11  take  a  sip  of  the  precious  wine ; 

It  will  banish  my  cold  and  fears ; 
It  was  given  long  since,  by  a  friend  of  mine — 

I  have  kept  it  for  many  years." 
So  he  drew  a  flask  from  a  moldy  nook. 

And  drank  of  its  ruby  tide  ; 
And  his  eyes  grew  bright  with  each  draught  he  took, 

And  his  bosom  swelled  with  pride. 

6.  "  Let  me  see ;  let  me  see !"  said  the  miser  then, 

"  'Tis  6C2ie  sixty  years  or  more 
Since  the  happy  hour  when  I  began 

To  heap  up  the  glittering  store; 
And  well  have  I  sped  with  my  anxious  toil, 

As  my  crowded  chest  will  show ; 
I  've  more  than  would  ransom  a  kingdom's  spoil. 

Or  an  emperor  could  bestow." 

7.  He  turned  to  an  old  worm-eaten  chest, 

And  cautiously  raised  the  lid, 
And  then  it  shone  like  the  clouds  of  the  west, 

With  the  sun  in  their  splendor  hid; 
And  gem  after  gem,  in  precious  store, 

Are  raised  with  exulting  smile ; 
And  he  counted  and  counted  tliem  o'er  and  o'er. 

In  many  a  glittering  piln. 


104 


ELOCUTION. 

K.  Why  comes  the  flush  to  his  pallid  brovr, 

While  his  eyes  like  his  diamonds  shine  ? 
Why  writhes  he  thus  in  such  torture  now  ? 

What  was  there  in  the  wine? 
He  strove  hia  lonely  scat  to  gain ; 

To  crawl  to  his  nest  he  tried ; 
But  finding  his  efforts  were  all  in  vain 

He  clasped  his  gold,  and — died. 


VIIL  — AN   INCIDENT  OF  OCEAN   UFE. 

1.  Our  noble  ship  lay  at  anchor  in  the  Bay  of  Tangier, 
R  fortified  town  in  the  extreme  northwest  of  Africa.  The 
day  had  been  extremely  mild,  with  a  gentle  breeze  sweep- 
ing to  the  northward  and  westward;  but  toward  the  close 
of  the  afternoon  the  sea-breeze  died  away,  and  one  of  those 
sultry,  oven-like  atmospheric  breathings  came  from  the 
great  sun-burnt  Sahara.  Half  an  hour  before  sundown  the 
captain  gave  the  cheering  order  for  the  boatswain  to  call 
the  hands  to  go  in  swimming,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes 
the  forms  of  our  tars  were  seen  leaping  from  the  arms  of 
the  lower  yards. 

2.  One  of  the  studding  sails  had  been  lowered  into  the 
water,  with  its  corners  suspended  from  the  main  yard-arm 
and  the  swinging  boom,  and  into  this  most  of  the  swimmers 
made  their  way.  Among  those  who  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
the  sport  most  heartily,  were  two  of  the  boys,  Tim.  Wallace 
and  Fred.  Fairbanks,  the  latter  of  whom  was  the  son  of 
our  old  gunner^  and  in  a  laughing  mood  the}'  started  out 
from  the  studding  sail  on  a  race.  There  was  a  loud  ringing 
shout  of  joy  on  their  lips  as  they  put  off,  and  they  darted 
through  the  water  like  fishes.  The  surface  of  the  sea  vai 
smooth  as  glass,  though  its  bosom  rose  in  long  heavy  swells 
that  set  in  from  the  Atlantic. 

3.  The  vessel  was  moored  with  a  long  sweep  from  both 
cables,  and  the  buoy  of  the  starboard  anchor  was  far  away 
on  the  starboard  quarter,  where  it  rose  and  fell  with  the  lazy 
swells,  like  a  drunken  man.  Toward  this  buoy  the  two 
bids  made  their  way,  Fred.  Fairbanks  taking  the  lead;  but 


NARRATIVE.  105 

•vhen  they  were  within  about  twenty  or  thirty  fathoms  of 
the  buoy,  Tim  shot  ahead  and  promised  to  win  the  race. 
The  old  gunner  watched  the  progress  of  his  little  son  with 
B  great  degree  of  pride,  and  when  he  saw  him  drop  behind, 
he  leaped  upon  the  quarter-deck,  and  was  just  upon  the 
point  of  urging  him  on  by  a  shout,  when  a  cry  reached 
bis  ear  that  made  him  start  as  if  he  had  been  struck  with 
a  cannon-ball. 

4.  "A  shark!  a  shark!"  came  forth  from  the  captain  of 
the  forecastle,  and  at  the  sound  of  these  terrible  words  the 
men  who  were  in  the  water  leaped  and  plunged  toward  the 
ship.  Right  abeam,  at  the  distance  of  three  or  four  cable 
lengths,  a  sharp  wake  was  seen  in  the  water,  where  the 
back  of  the  monster  was  visible.  His  course  was  for  the 
boys.  For  a  moment,  the  gunner  stood  like  one  bereft  of 
sense,  but  on  the  next,  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
for  the  boys  to  turn ;  but  the  little  fellows  heard  him  not — 
stoutly  the  two  swimmers  strove  for  the  goal,  all  uncon- 
scious of  .the  bloody  death-spirit  that  hovered  so  near  them. 
Their  merry  laugh  still  rang  over  the  waters,  and  at  length 
they  both  touehed  the  buoy  together. 


IX.  — AN  INCIDENT   OF    OCEAN   LIFE.— Concluded. 

1.  O,  WHAT  drops  of  agony  started  from  the  brow  of  the 
gunner!  A  boat  had  put  off,  but  Fairbanks  knew  that  it 
could  not  reach  the  boys  in  season,  and  every  moment  he 
expected  to  see  the  monster  sink  from  sight — then  he  knew 
that  all  hope  would  be  gone.  At  this  moment  a  cry  reached 
the  ship,  that  went  through  every  heart  like  a  stream  of 
fire — the  boys  had  discovered  their  enemy! 

2.  The  cry  started  old  Fairbanks  to  his  senses,  and 
quicker  than  thought  he  sprang  from  the  quarter-deck.  The 
guns  were  all  loaded  and  shotted,  fore  and  aft,  and  none 
knew  their  temper  better  than  he.  With  steady  hand,  made 
strong  by  sudden  hope,  the  old  gunner  seized  a  priming- 
wire  and  picked  the  cartridge  of  one  of  the  quarter  guns; 
then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  percussion  wafer  and  set  it 
in  it«  place,  and  set  b»?k  the  hammer  of  the  patent  lock. 


ion  ELOCUTION. 

With  a  giant  strength  the  old  man  swayed  the  breech  Df 
the  heavy  gun  to  its  bearing,  and  then  seizing  the  spring  of 
the  lock,  he  stood  back  and  watched  for  the  next  swell  that 
would  bring  the  shark  in  range.  He  had  aimed  the  piece 
some  distance  ahead  of  his  mark,  but  yet  a  little  moment 
would  settle  his  hopes  and  fears. 

3.  Every  breath  was  hushed,  and  every  heart  in  thai 
old  ship  beat  painfully.  The  boat  was  yet  some  distance 
from  the  boys,  while  the  horrid  sea-monster  was  fearfully 
near.  Suddenly  the  air  was  awoke  by  the  roar  of  the  heavy 
gun,  and  as  the  old  man  knew  his  shot  was  gone,  he  sank 
back  upon  the  combing  of  the  hatch  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  as  if  afraid  to  see  the  result  of  his  own 
efforts;  for  if  he  had  failed,  he  knew  that  his  boy  was  lost. 
For  a  moment  after  the  report  of  the  gun  had  died  away 
upon  the  air,  there  was  a  dead  silence,  but  as  the  dense 
smoke  arose  from  the  surface  of  the  water,  there  was  at 
first  a  low  murmur  breaking  from  the  lips  of  the  men — 
that  murmur  grew  louder  and  stronger,  till  it  swelled  to  a 
joyous,  deafening  shout. 

4.  The  old  gunner  sprang  to  his  feet  and  gazed  off  on 
the  water,  and  the  first  thing  that  met  his  view  was  the 
huge  carcass  of  the  shark,  floating  with  his  white  belly  up 
— a  mangled,  lifeless  mass.  In  a  few  moments  the  boat 
reached  the  daring  swimmers,  and,  half  dead  with  fright, 
they  were  brought  on  board.  The  old  man  clasped  his  boy 
in  his  arms,  and  then,  overcome  by  the  powerful  excitement, 
he  leaned  upon  a  gun  for  support.  I  have  seen  men  in 
all  the  phases  of  excitement  and  suspense,  but  never  have 
I  seen  three  human  beings  more  overcome  by  thrilling 
emotions,  than  on  that  startling  moment  when  they  fir<>t 
knew  the  effect  of  our  gunner's  shot. 


X.  — HASSAN,    OR  THE   CAMEL-DRIVER. 

1.  In  silent  horror  o'er  the  boundless  waste 
The  driver  Hassan  with  his  camels  past: 
One  cruise  of  water  on  his  back  he  bore, 
And  his  light  scrip  contained  a  scanty  store: 


NARRATIVE.  107 

A  fan  of  painted  feathers  in  his  hand, 

To  guard  his  shaded  face  from  8Corehin«;  sand. 

The  sultry  sun  had  gained  the  middle  sky, 

And  not  a  tree  and  not  an  herb  was  nigh  : 

The  beasts,  with  pain,  their  dusty  way  pursue. 

Shrill  roared  the  winds,  and  dreary  was  the  view! 

With  desperate  sorrow  wild,  th'  affrighted  man 

Thrice  sighed,  thrice  struck  his  breast,  and  thus  began: 

"  Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 

When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  I 

2.  "  Ah !  little  thought  I  of  the  blasting  wintf 
The  thirst,  or  pinching  hunger,  that  I  find  I 
Bethink  thee,  Ilassan,  where  shall  thirst  assuage. 
When  fails  this  cruse,  his  unrelenting  rage  ? 
Soon  shall  this  scrip  its  precious  load  resign  ; 
Then  what  but  tears  and  hunger  shall  be  thine? 

3.  "  Ye  mute  companions  of  my  toil,  that  bear 
In  all  my  griefs  a  more  than  equal  share ! 
Here,  where  no  springs  in  murmurs  break  away, 
Or  moss-crowned  fountains  mitigate  the  day, 

In  vain  ye  hope  the  green  delights  to  know. 
Which  plains  more  blest,  or  verdant  vales  bestow: 
Here  rocks  alone,  and  ceaseless  sands  are  found, 
And  faint  and  sickly  winds  forever  howl  around. 
Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 
When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  I 

4.  "Cursed  be  the  gold  and  silver  which  persuai^a 
Weak  men  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade! 

The  lily  peace  outshines  the  silver  store. 
And  life  is  dearer  than  the  golden  ore: 
Yet  money  tempts  us  o'er  the  desert  brown. 
To  every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 
Why  heed  we  not,  while,  mad,  we  haste  along. 
The  gentle  voice  of  peace,  or  pleasure's  song? 
Or  wherefore  think  the  flowery  mountain's  side, 
The  fountain's  murmur,  and  the  valley's  pride,— 
Why  think  we  these  less  pleasing  to  behold 
Than  dreary  deserts,  if  they  lead  to  gold  ? 
Snd  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day. 
When  first  from  Schiras'  walls  I  bent  my  way  I 


108  ELOCUTION. 

5.  "  0  cease,  my  fears  I — all  frantic  n.s  I  go, 
Wlien  thought  creates  unnumbered  scenes  of  wo. 
What  if  the  lion  in  his  rage  I  meet  I 
Jft  in  the  dust  I  view  his  printed  feet: 
And,  fearful !  oft,  when  day's  declining  light 
Yields  her  pale  empire  to  the  mourner  night, 
By  hunger  roused,  he  scours  the  groaning  plain, 
Gaunt  wolves  and  sullen  tigers  in  his  train: 
Before  them,  death  with  shrieks  directs  their  way, 
Fills  the  wild  yell,  and  leads  them  to  their  prey. 
Sad  was  the  hour  and  luckless  was  the  day, 
^,^^When  first  from  Schirax'  walls  I  bent  my  way  I 

C.  "At  that  dread  hour,  the  silent  asp  shall  creep, 
If  aught  of  rest  I  find,  upon  my  sleep : 
Or  some  swoln  serpent  twist  his  scales  around 
And  wake  to  anguish  with  a  burning  wound 
Thrice  happy  they,  the  wise  contented  poor, 
From  lust  of  wealth,  and  dread  of  death  secure  I 
They  tempt  no  deserts,  and  no  griefs  they  find: 
Peace  rules  the  day,  where  reason  rules  the  mind. 
Sad  was  the  hour  and  luckless  was  the  day. 
When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  I 

7.  '*  0,  hapless  youth,  for  she  thy  love  hath  won, 
The  tender  Zara  will  be  most  undone ! 

Big  swelled  my  heart,  and  owned  the  powerful  maid, 
When  fast  she  dropt  her  tears,  as  thus  she  said : — 
'  Farewell  the  youth  whom  sighs  could  not  detain, 
Whom  Zara's  breaking  heart  implored  in  vain  I 
Yet,  as  thou  go'st,  may  every  blast  arise 
Weak  and  unfelt  as  these  rejected  sighs! 
Safe  o'er  the  wild,  no  perils  may'st  thou  see. 
No  griefs  endure,  nor  weep,  false  youth,  like  me.* 
0!  let  mo  safely  to  the  fair  return, 
Say  with  a  kiss,  she  must  not,  shall  not  mourn ; 
0 !  let  me  teach  my  heart  to  lose  its  fears. 
Recalled  by  wisdom's  voice,  and  Zara's  tears." 

8.  lie  said,  and  called  on  Heaven  to  bless  the  day, 
When  back  to  Schiraz'  walls  he  bent  his  way. 

COLLINS 


NARRATIVE.  lO'J 

XL— FORTY   YEARS  AGO. 

1.  I've  wandered  to  the  village,  Tom, 

1  've  sat  beneath  the  tree, 
Upon  the  school-house  play-ground,  « 

That  sheltered  you  and  uie ; 
But  none  were  left  to  greet  me,  Tom, 

And  few  were  left  to  know, 
Who  played  with  us  upon  the  green, 

Just  forty  years  ago. 

2.  The  grass  was  just  as  green,  Tom, 

Barefooted  boys  at  play 
Were  sporting,  just  as  wo  did  then, 

With  spirits  just  as  gay. 
But  the  master  sleeps  upon  the  hill, 

Which,  coated  o'er  with  snow, 
Afforded  us  a  sliding-place, 

Some  forty  years  ago. 

5.  The  old  school-house  is  altered  some ; 

The  benches  are  replaced 
By  new  ones,  very  lik(^  the  same 

Our  jack-knives  had  defaced. 
But  the  same  old  bricks  are  in  the  wall. 

And  the  bell  swings  to  and  fro, 
Its  music  's  just  the  same,  dear  Tom, 

'Twas  forty  years  ago. 

4.  The  spring  that  bubbled  'neath  the  hill. 

Close  by  the  spreading  beech. 
Is  very  low ;  'twas  once  so  high 

That  we  could  scarcely  reach  ; 
And  kneeling  down  to  take  a  drink. 

Dear  Tom,  I  started  so, 
To  think  how  very  much  I  've  changed 

Since  forty  years  ago. 

5.  Near  by  that  spring,  upon  an  elm, 

You  know  I  cut  your  name. 
Your  sweetheart's  just  beneath  it,  Tom, 

And  you  did  mine  the  same. 
Some  heartless  wretch  has  peeled  the  bark; 

'Twas  dying  sure,  but  slow. 
Just  as  she  died  whose  name  you  cut 

There  forty  years  ago. 


110  ELOCUTION. 

G.  Mj  lids  have  long  been  dry,  Tom, 

But  tears  came  in  my  eyes ; 
I  thought  of  her  I  loved  so  welU 

Tiiose  early  broken  ties. 
I  visited  the  old  church-yard. 

And  took  some  flowers  to  strow 
Upon  the  graves  of  tliose  we  luved 

Just  forty  years  ago 

7    Some  i^re  in  the  church-yard  laid, 

Some  eleep  beneath  the  sea; 
But  none  ar<)  left  of  our  old  class, 

Kxcen^in^  yon  and  me. 
And  when  our  time  shall  come,  Tom, 

And  we  are  called  to  go, 
1  hope  we'll  meet  with  those  we  loved 

Some  forty  yean  ago. 


XII.— THE  FATAL  FALSEHOOD. 

1.  Mrs.  Opie,  in  her  "Illustrations  of  Lying,"  gives,  as 
an  instance  of  what  she  terms  *'  the  Ho  of  benevolence,"  the 
melancholy  tale  of  which  the  following  is  the  conclusion. 
— Vernon  is  a  clergyman  in  W*istmoreland,  whose  youngest 
son,  at  a  distance  from  home,  had.  in  a  moment  of  passion, 
committed  murder.  The  youth  had  been  condemned  and  ex- 
ecuted for  his  crime.  But  his  brothers  had  kept  the  cause 
and  form  of  his  death  concealed  from  theii  father,  and  had 
informed  him  that  their  brother  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill, 
and  died  on  his  road  homeward.  The  father  hears  the  aw- 
ful truth,  under  the  following  circumstances,  when  on  a 
journey. 

2.  The  coach  stopped  at  an  inn  outside  the  city  of  York ; 
and,  as  Vernon  was  not  disposed  to  eat  any  dinner,  he  strolled 
along  the  road,  till  he  came  to  a  small  church,  pleasantly  situ- 
ated, and  entered  the  church-yard  to  read,  as  was  his  custow 
the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones.  While  thus  engaged,  hr 
saw  a  man  filling  up  a  new-made  grave,  and  entered  into  eoi?- 
versation  with  him.  He  found  it  was  the  sexton  himself; 
and  he  drew  from  him  several  anecdotes  of  the  persons  in- 
terred around  them. 


NARRATIVE.  Ill 

3.  During  tbcir  conversation  they  had  walked  over  the 
whole  of  the  ground,  when,  just  as  they  were  going  to  leave 
the  spot,  the  sexton  stopped  to  pluck  some  weeds  from  a 
grave  near  the  corner  of  it,  and  Vernon  stopped  also  ;  tak- 
ing hold,  as  he  did  so,  of  a  small  willow  sapling,  planted 
near  the  corner  by  itself. 

4.  As  the  man  rose  from  his  occupation,  and  saw  where 
Vernon  stood,  he  smiled  significantly,  and  said,  "I  planted 
that  willow ;  and  it  is  on  a  grave,  thougl  the  grave  is  not 
marked  out." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  the  grave  of  a  murderer." 
"  Of  a  murderer  !  "  —  echoed  Vernon,  iastinctively  shud- 
dering, and  moving  away  from  it. 

5.  "Yes,"  resumed  he,  "of  a  murderer  who  was  hanged 
at  York.  Poor  lad!  —  it  was  very  right  that  he  ohould  be 
hanged  ;  but  he  was  not  a  hardened  villain  I  and  he  died  so 
penitent !  and  as  I  know  him  when  he  used  to  visit  where  I 
was  groom,  I  could  not  help  planting  this  tree  for  old  ac- 
quaintance' sake." — Here  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

6.  "  Then  he  was  not  a  low-born  man  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no  ;  his  father  was  a  clergyman,  I  think." 
"Indeed!   poor  man:  was  he  living  at  the  time?"  said 
Vernon,  deeply  sighing. 

"  Oh !  yes ;  for  his  poor  son  did  fret  so,  lest  his  :*ather 
should  ever  knew  what  he  had  done:  he  said  he  was  an 
angel  upon  earth;  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  how  he 
would  grieve ;  for,  poor  lad,  he  loved  his  father  and  his 
mother  too,  though  he  did  so  badly." 

7.  "  Is  his  mother  living?" 

"  No  ;  if  she  had,  he  would  have  been  alive  ;  but  his  rvil 
courses  broke  her  heart;  and  it  was  because  the  man  he 
killed  reproached  him  for  having  murdered  his  mother,  ibst 
he  was  provoked  to  murder  him." 

"Poor,  rash,  mistaken  youth!  then  he  had  provocation?" 
"  Oh  !  yes  ;  the  greatest :  but  he  was  very  sorry  for  what 
he  had  done  ;  and  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good  t» 
hear  him  talk  of  his  p>or  father.' 


112  BLOOOTION. 

8.  "I  am  glad  I  did  not  hear  him/'  said  Vernon  hastily^ 
and  in  a  faltering  voice,  (for  he  thought  of  Edgar.) 

"  And  jct,  sir,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good,  too." 
^'  Then  he  had  virtuous  feelings,  and  loved  his  father, 

amidst  all  his  errors?" 
♦♦Aye" 

*'  And  I  dare  say  his  father  loved  him,  in  spite  of  his  faults." 
*'I  dare  say  he  did,"  replied  the  man  ;  ''for  one's  children 

are  our  own  flesh  and  hlood,  you  know,  sir,  after  all  that  is 

said  and  done;  and  may  he  this  young  fellow  was  spoiled  in 

the  bringing  up." 

9.  *^  Perhaps  so,"  said  Vernon,  sighing  deeply. 

**  However,  this  poor  lad  made  a  very  good  end." 

*<  I  am  glad  of  thatl  and  he  lies  here,"  continued  Vernon, 

gazing  on  the  spot  with  deeper  interest,  and  moving  nearer 

to  it  as  he  spoke.     "  Peace  be  to  his  soul !  but  was  he  not 

dissected  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  his  brothers  got  leave  to  have  the  body  after 

dissection.     They  came  to  me,  and  we  buried  it  privately  at 

night." 

10.  '*  His  brothers  came  !  and  who  were  bis  brothers  ?  " 
''Merchants,  in  London;  and  it  was  a  sad  cut  on  them; 

but  they  took  care  that  their  father  should  not  know  it." 
*'  No  I "  cried  Vernon,  turning  sick  at  heart. 
"  Oh  !  no ;  they  wrote  him  word  that  his  son  was  ill  j  then 

went  to  Westmoreland,  and  —  " 

"  Tell  me,"  interrupted  Vernon,  gasping  for  breath,  and 

laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  "tell  me  the  name  of  this  poor 

youth  !  " 

11.  "Why,  he  was  tried  under  a  false  name,  for  the  sake 
of  his  family ;  but  his  real  name  was  Edgar  Vernon." 

The  agonized  parent  drew  back,  shuddered  violently  and 
repeatedly,  casting  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  at  the  same  time, 
with  a  look  of  mingled  appeal  and  resignation.  He  then 
rushed  to  the  obscure  spot  which  covered  the  bones  of  his 
son,  threw  himself  upon  it,  and  stretched  his  arms  over  it,  as 
if  embracing  the  unconscious  deposit  beneath,  while  his  head 
rested  on  the  grass,  and  he  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Bui 
he  uttered  one  groan  ;  —  then  all  was  stillness ! 


NARRATIVE.  113 

12.  His  terrified  and  astonished  companion  remained  mo 
tionless  for  a  few  moments, — then  stooped  to  raise  him  ;  but 
the  FIAT  OF  MERCY  hud  gone  forth,  and  the  paternal  heart, 
broken  by  the  sudden  shock,  had  suffered,  and  breathed  its 

last.  MRS.  OPIE. 


Xm.— THE  CYNIC. 

1 .  The  Cynic  is  one  who  never  sees  a  good  quality  in  a 
man,  and  never  fails  to  see  a  bad  one.  He  is  the  human 
owl,  vigilant  in  darkness  and  blind  to  light,  mousing  for  ver- 
min, and  never  seeing  noble  game. 

2.  The  Cynic  puts  all  human  actions  into  only  two  classes 
— openly  bad,  and  secretly  bad.  All  virtue,  and  generosity, 
and  disinterestedness,  are  merely  the  (rppearance  of  good,  but 
selfish  at  the  bottom.  He  holds  that  no  man  does  a  good 
thing  except  for  profit.  The  effect  of  his  conversation  upon 
your  feelings  is  to  chill  and  sear  them  ;  to  send  you  away 
sour  and  morose. 

3.  His  criticisms  and  innuendoes  fall  indiscriminately  upon 
every  lovely  thing,  like  frost  upon  the  flowers.  If  Mr.  A  is 
pronounced  a  religious  man,  he  will  reply:  yes,  on  Sundays. 
Mr.  B  has  ju.st  joined  the  church:  certainly;  the  elections  are 
coming  on.  The  minister  of  the  gospel  is  called  an  example 
of  diligence :  it  is  his  trade.  Such  a  man  is  generous :  of 
other  mens  money.  This  man  is  obliging  :  to  lull  suspicion 
and  chrat  you.     That  man  is  upright :  because  he  is  green. 

4.  Thus  his  eye  strains  out  every  good  quality,  and  takes 
in  only  the  bad.  To  him  religion  is  hypocrisy,  honesty  a 
preparation  for  fraud,  virtue  only  a  want  of  opportunity, 
and  undeniable  purity,  asceticism.  The  livelong  day  he  will 
coolly  sit  with  sneering  lip,  transfixing  every  character  that 
is  presented. 

5.  It  is  impossible  to  indulge  in  such  habitual  severity  of 
opinion  upon  our  fellow-men,  without  injuring  the  tendernes!» 
and  delicacy  of  our  own  feelings.  A  man  will  be  what  hi» 
most  cherished  feelings  are.  If  he  encourage  a  noble  gene- 
rosity, every  feeling  will  be  enriched  by  it;  if  he  nurse  bit- 
ter and  envenomed  thoughts,  his  own  spirit  will  absorb  th« 

Kinn  --|;> 


114  ELOCUTION. 

poison,  and  he  will  crawl  among  men  as  a  burnished  adder, 
whose  life  is  mischief,  and  whose  errand  is  death. 

6.  He  who  hunts  for  flowers,  will  find  flowers;  and  he  who 
loves  weeds,  may  find  weeds.  Let  it  bo  remembered  that  no 
man,  who  is  not  himself  mortally  diseased,  will  have  a  relish 
for  disease  in  others.  Kcject  then  the  morbid  ambition  of 
the  Cynic,  or  cease  to  call  yourself  a  man. 

H.  W.  BEECUER. 


XIV.— THE  FIELD  OP  WATERLOO. 

1.  Stop! — for  thy  tread  is  on  an  empire's  dust! 
An  earthquake's  spoil  is  sepulchred  below! 
Is  the  spot  marked  with  no  colossal  bust  ? 
Nor  column,  trophied  for  triumphal  show? 
None:  but  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so. 
As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be. — 
How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  growt 
And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gained  by  thee. 

Thou  first  and  last  of  fields !   king-making  victory  ? 

2.  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night. 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry:  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  id>  women  and  brave  men ; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily ;  and  when 
Music  arose,  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell ; — 
But  hush !   hark !   a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell ! 

3.  Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No  ; — 'twas  but  the  wind. 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street : 

On  with  the  dance  I    let  joy  be  unconfined  , 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 
But  hark ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more. 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before! 
Arm !  arm  !  it  is  ! — it  is  ! — the  cannon's  opening  roar ! 

4.  Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall 
Sate  BrunsAvick's  fated  chieftain  ;  he  did  hear 


NARRATIVE.  115 

That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 
And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear ; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  ke  deemed  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 
Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier, 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell : 
He  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting;^  fell  I  \ 

5.  Ah!  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress. 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated ;  who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 

Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise? 

6.  And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste;  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car. 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 

And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum  ^ 

Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb. 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips,  "  The  foe !  they  come,  they  come  1* 

7.  And  wild  and  high  the  "  Cameron^s  gathering"  rosel 
The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 

Have  heard — and  heard  too  have  her  Saxon  foes: — 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills, 
Savage  and  shrill !     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring,  which  instills 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years ; 
A"'?  »■''•"•■•''    T» ''•''  ^—  -:—  : »^   -i-nsman's  ears. 

\        ArMerincs  •,  <-  tlioin  her  green  leavea. 

I'         with  natui  >p8,  as  they  pass, 

(jrieving— if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves — 
Over  the  unreturning  brave — alas  I 
Kre  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  giiiss. 


116  ELOCUTION. 

Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  ita  next  verdure ;  when  this  fiery  mass 
or  living  valor,  rolling  t>u  the  foe, 
And  burning  with  high  hope,'^8hall  moulder  cold  and  low  I 

9.  Lost  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life. 
Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay ; 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife ; 
The  morn  the  marshaling  in  arms;  t}-^   1-t 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array ! 
The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which,  avIicu  rent. 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover — heaped  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse — friend,  foo— in  one  red  burial  blent ! 

BYRON. 


XV.— VARIETIES  IN  PROSE. 
1. — A    TRUE    LADY. 

"  I  CAN  not  forbear  pointing  out  to  you,  my  dearest  child," 
said  Lord  Collingwood  to  his  daughter,  "the  great  advan. 
tages  that  will  result  from  a  temperate  conduct  and  sweet- 
ness of  manner  to  all  people  on  all  occasions.  Never  forget 
that  you  are  a  gentlewoman,  and  that  all  your  words  and 
actions  should  prove  you  gentle.  I  never  heard  your  mother 
— your  dear,  good  mother — say  a  harsh  or  hasty  thing  to  any 
person  in  my  life.  Endeavor  to  imitate  her.  I  am  quick 
and  hasty  in  my  temper,  but,  my  darling,  it  is  a  misfortune 
which,  not  having  been  suflSciently  restrained  in  my  youth, 
has  caused  me  inexpressible  pain.  It  has  given  me  more 
trouble  to  subdue  this  impetuosity  than  anything  I  ever 
undertook. 

2. — THE    ZENAIDA    DOVE. 

I.  Mr.  Audubon,  in  his  valuable  work  on  American  Orni- 
chology,  relates  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  the  deep  impres- 
sions liable  to  be  made  on  the  mind  from  hearing  the  cooing 
of  the  Zenaida  Dove,  a  pigeon  which  frequents  the  small 
islands  in  the  Gulf  of  Florida.  "  The  cooing  of  the  Zenaida 
Dove,"  says  he,  '*is  so  peculiar,  that  one  who  hears  it  for  the 
first  time  naturally  stops  to  ask,  'What  bird  is  that?' 


NAURATIVE.  117 

L'  A  man,  who  was  once  a  pirate,  assured  me,  that  sev- 
eral times,  while  at  certain  wells,  dug  in  the  burning,  shelly 
sands  of  a  well-known  island,  the  soft  and  melancholy  cry 
of  the  doves  awoke  in  his  breast  feelings  which  had  long 
Blumbered,  melted  his  heart  to  repentance,  and  caused  him 
to  linger  at  the  spot  in  a  state  of  mind,  which  he  only,  who 
compares  the  wretchedness  of  guilt  within  him  with  the  hap- 
piness of  former  innocence,  can  truly  feel. 

3.  "  He  said  he  never  left  the  place  without  increased 
fears  of  futurity,  associated  as  he  was,  although  I  believe 
by  force,  with  a  band  of  the  most  desperate  villains  that 
ever  annoyed  the  navigation  of  the  Florida  coast.  So  deeply 
moved  was  he  by  the  notes  of  any  bird,  and  especially  those 
of  a  dove,  the  only  soothing  sounds  he  ever  heard  during  his 
life  of  horrors,  that,  through  those  plaintive  notes,  and  them 
alone,  he  was  induced  to  escape  from  his  vessel,  abandon  his 
turbulent  companions,  and  return  to  a  family  deploring  his 
absence. 

4.  "After  paying  a  parting  visit  to  those  wells,  and  listen- 
ing once  more  to  the  cooings  of  the  Zenaida  Dove,  he  poured 
out  his  soul  in  supplications  for  mercy,  and  once  more  be- 
came what  is  said  to  be  'the  noblest  work  of  God,'  an  honest 
man.  Ilis  escape  was  effected  amidst  difficulties  and  dangers  ; 
but  no  danger  seemed  to  him  to  be  compared  with  the  dan- 
ger of  one  living  in  the  violation  of  human  and  divine  laws; 
»nd  now  he  lives  in  peace,  in  the  midst  of  his  friends." 

AUDUBON. 
3. — WHAT    HOPE    DID. 

It  stole  on  its  pinions  of  snow  to  the  bed  of  disease ;  and 
the  sufferer's  frown  became  a  smile,  the  emblem  of  peace  and 
endurance.  It  went  to  the  house  of  mourning — and  from  the 
)i{)S  of  sorrow  there  came  sweet  and  cheerful  songs.  It  laid 
its  head  upon  the  arm  of  the  poor  man,  which  was  stretched 
forth  at  the  command  of  unholy  impulses,  and  saved  him 
from  disgrace  and  ruin.  It  dwelt  like  a  living  thing  in  the 
bosom  of  the  mother,  whose  son  tarried  long  after  the  prom- 
ised time  of  his  coming ;  and  saved  her  from  desolation,  and 
the  "oare  that  killeth."     Ii  hovered  about  the  head  of  the 


115  ELOCUTION. 

youth  who  had  bccomo  the  Ishmael  of  society ;  and  led  hiin 
on  to  works  which  even  his  enemies  praised.  It  snatched 
the  maiden  from  the  jaws  of  death,  and  went  with  an  old 
man  to  Heaven. 


XVI.— POETICAL  SELECTIONa 
1. — THE   LAST   MINSTREL. 

1.  TuE  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold. 
The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 

His  withered  cheek,  and  tresses  gray. 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day : 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy: 
The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he, 
Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry. 
For,  well-a-day  I  their  date  was  fled. 
His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead ; 
And  he,  neglected  and  oppressed, 
Wished  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 

2.  No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 
He  caroled,  light  as  lark  at  morn : 

No  longer  courted  and  caressed, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest. 

Ho  poured  to  lord,  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay : 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone, 

A  stranger  filled  the  Stuarts'  throne ; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time. 

Had  called  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  harper,  scorned  and  poor. 

He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door ; 

And  tuned  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear.  scorr 

2. — THE    LIGHT    AT    HOME. 

Fee  Light  at  home  I  how  bright  it  beams 
When  evening  shades  around  us  fall; 

And  from  the  lattice  far  it  gleams ; 
To  love,  and  rest,  and  comfort  call 


NARRATIVE.  119 

When  tired  mth  the  toils  of  day, 

The  strife  for  glory,  gold,  or  fame. 
How  sweet  to  seek  the  quiet  way. 

Where  loving  lips  will  lisp  our  name, 

Around  the  Light  at  Homo. 

9    When  through  the  dark  and  stormy  night, 
The  wayward  wanderer  homeward  hies  ; 
Uow  cheering  is  that  twinkling  light, 

Which  through  the  forest  gloom  he  spies ! 
It  is  the  light  at  home,  he  feels 

That  loving  hearts  will  greet  him  there. 
And  softly  through  his  bosom  steals, 
That  joy  and  love  which  banish  care. 

Around  the  Light  at  Uome. 

8.  The  Light  at  Home,  whene'er  at  last, 

It  greets  the  seaman  through  the  storm. 
He  feels  no  more  the  chilling  blast 
That  beats  upon  his  manly  form. 
Long  years  upon  the  sea  have  fled, 

Since  Mary  gave  the  parting  kiss, 
But  the  sad  tears  which  then  she  shed. 
Will  now  be  paid  with  rapturous  bliss. 
Around  the  Light  at  Home 

4.  The  Light  at  Home  1  how  still  and  sweet 
It  peeps  from  yonder  cottage  door — 
The  weary  laborer  to  greet — 

When  the  rough  toils  of  day  are  o'er. 
Sad  is  the  soul  that  does  not  know 

The  blessings  that  its  beams  impart, 
The  cheerful  hopes  and  joys  that  flow. 
And  lighten  up  the  heaviest  heart, 

Around  the  Light  at  Home. 

3. — THE  HAPPY   WARRIOR. 

Who  is  the  happy  warrior?  who  is  he, 
That  every  man  in  arms  would  wish  to  be? 
'T  is  he  who  fixes  good  on  good,  and  owes 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows — 
Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command, 
Rises  by  open  means,  and  there  will  Bland 
On  honorable  terms,  or  else  retire, 
And. in  himself  possess  his  own  deeire— 


120  ELOCUTION. 

Who  therefore  does  not  stoop  or  lie  in  wait 
For  wealth,  or  honors,  or  for  worldly  state — 
Whom  they  intuit  follow — on  wliose  head  must  fall, 
Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all — 
Who,  while  the  mortal  miut  is  gathering,  draws 
His  hreath  in  confidence  of  heaven's  applause- 
Thi9  is  the  happy  warrior — this  is  he. 
Whom  erery  man  in  arms  should  wi>l 


XVn— DEATH  OF  MORRIS. 

1.  It  was  under  the  burning  influence  of  revenge  that  the 
wife  of  Macgregor  commanded  that  the  hostage,  exchanged 
for  her  husband's  safety,  should  be  brought  into  her  presence. 
I  believe  her  sons  had  kept  this  unfortunate  wretch  out  of 
her  sight,  for  fear  of  the  consequences ;  but  if  it  was  so,  their 
humane  precaution  only  postponed  his  fate.  They  dragged 
forward,  at  her  summons,  a  wretch,  already  half  dead  with 
terror,  in  whose  agonized  features,  I  recognized,  to  my  hor- 
ror and  astonishment,  my  old  acquaintance  Morris. 

2.  He  fell  prostrate  before  the  female  chief  with  an  effort 
to  clasp  her  knees,  from  which  she  drew  back,  as  if  his  touch 
had  been  pollution,  so  that  all  he  could  do  in  token  of  the 
extremity  of  his  humiliation,  was  to  kiss  the  hem  of  her 
plaid.  I  never  heard  entreaties  for  life  poured  forth  with 
such  agony  of  spirit.  The  ecstasy  of  fear  was  such,  that, 
instead  of  paralyzing  his  tongue,  as  on  ordinary  occasions,  it 
even  rendered  him  eloquent ;  and,  with  checks  as  pale  as 
ashes,  hands  compressed  in  agony,  eyes  that  seemed  to  be 
taking  their  last  look  of  all  mortal  objects,  he  protested,  with 
the  deepest  oaths,  his  total  ignorance  of  any  design  on  the 
life  of  Rob  Roy,  whom  he  swore  he  loved  and  honored  as  his 
own  soul.  In  the  inconsistency  of  his  terror,  he  said,  he  was 
but. the  agent  of  others,  and  he  muttered  the  name  of  Rash- 
leigh. — He  prayed  but  for  life — for  life  he  would  give  all  he 
had  in  the  world; — it  was  but  life  he  asked — life,  if  it  were 
to  be  prolonged  under  tortures  and  privations;  —  he  asked 
only  breath,  though  it  should  be  drawn  in  the  damps  of  the 
lowest  caverns  of  their  hills. 

3.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scorn,  the  loathing,  and 


NARRATIVE.  121 

contempt,  with  which  the  wife  of  Macgregor  regard*  d  thii 
wretched  petitioner  for  the  poor  boon  of  existence.  "  I 
could  have  bid  you  live,"  she  said,  "  had  life  been  to  you 
the  same  weary  and  wasting  burden  that  it  is  to  me — that  it 
is  to  every  noble  and  generous  mind.  —  But  you  —  wretch  I 
you  could  creep  through  the  world  unaffected  by  ita  various 
disgraces,  its  ineffable  miseries,  its  constantly  accumulating 
masses  of  crime  and  sorrow. — you  could  live  and  enjoy  your- 
self, while  the  noble-minded  are  betrayed,  —  while  nameless 
and  birthless  villains  tread  on  the  neck  of  the  brave  and  long 
descended, — you  could  enjoy  yourself,  like  a  butcher's  dog 
in  the  shambles,  battening  on  garbage,  while  the  slaughter  of 
the  brave  went  on  around  you !  This  enjoyment  you  shall 
not  live  to  partake;  you  shall  die,  base  dog,  and  that  before 
yon  cloud  has  passed  over  the  sun." 

4.  She  gave  a  brief  command,  in  Gaelic,  to  her  attendants, 
two  of  whom  seized  upon  the  prostrate  suppliant,  and  hur- 
ried him  to  the  brink  of  a  cliff  which  overhung  the  flood. 
He  set  up  the  most  piercing  and  dreadful  cries  that  fear 
ever  uttered  —  I  may  well  term  them  dreadful ;  for  they 
haunted  my  sleep  for  years  afterward.  As  the  murderers, 
or  executioners,  call  them  as  you  will,  dragged  him  along, 
he  recognized  me,  even  in  that  moment  of  honor,  and  ex- 
claimed, in  the  last  articulate  words  I  ever  heard  him  utter, 
"  0,  Mr.  Osbaldistone,  save  me  1  —  save  me  !  " 

5.  I  was  so  much  moved  by  this  horrid  spectacle,  that, 
although  in  momentary  expectation  of  sharing  his  fate,  I  did 
attempt  to  speak  in  his  behalf,  but,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, my  interference  was  sternly  disregarded.  The  victim 
was  held  fast  by  some,  while  others,  binding  a  large,  heavy 
stone  in  a  plaid,  tied  it  round  his  neck,  and  others  again 
eagerly  stripped  him  of  some  part  of  his  dress.  Half  naked, 
and  thus  manacled,  they  hurried  him  into  the  lake,  there, 
about  twelve  feet  deep,  drowning  his  last  death-shriek  with 
A  loud  halloo  of  vindictive  triumph,  over  which,  however,  the 
yell  of  mortal  agony  was  distinctly  heard. 

G.  The  heavy  burden  splashed  in  the  dark -blue  waters  of 
the  lake  ;  and  the  Highlanders,  with  their  pole-axes  and 
ewords,  watched  an  instant,  to  guard,  lest,  extricating 

KlDD.— 11 


1-li  ELOCUTION. 

felf  from  the  load  to  which  he  was  attached,  he  might  have 
struggled  to*  regain  the  shore.  But  the  knot  had  heen  se- 
curely  bound ;  the  victim  sunk  without  effort ;  the  waters, 
which  his  fall  had  disturbed,  settled  calmly  over  him ;  and 
the  unit  of  that  life  for  which  he  had  pleaded  so  strongly, 
wa.4  forever  withdrawn  from  the  sum  of  human  existence. 

SCOTT. 


XVm.— POOR  LITTLE  JIM, 

1.  Thb  cottage  was  a  thatched  one,  the  outside  old  and  mean, 
But  all  within  that  little  cot  was  wondrous  neat  and  clean  ; 
The  night  was  dark  and  stormy,  the  wind  was  howling  wild, 
As  a  patient  mother  sat  beside  the  death-bed  of  her  child : 

A  little  worn-out  creature,  his  once  bright  eyes  grown  dim : 
It  was  a  collier's  wife  and  child,  they  veiled  him  little  Jim. 

2.  And  oh  I  to  see  the  briny  tears  fast  hurrying  down  her  cheek, 
As  she  offered  up  the  prayer,  in  thought,  she  was  afraid  to  speak. 
Lest  she  might  waken  one  she  loved  fur  better  than  her  life; 
For  she  had  all  a  mother's  heart,  had  that  poor  collier's  wife. 
With  hands  uplifted,  see,  she  kneels  beside  the  sufferer's  bed. 
And  prays  that  He  would  spare  her  boy,  and  take  herself  instead 

3.  She  gets  her  answer  from  the  child:  soft  fall  the  words  from  him 
**  Mother,  the  angels  do  so  smile,  and  beckon  little  Jim. 

I  have  no  pain,  dear  mother,  now,  but  0 !  I  am  so  dry. 
Just  moisten  poor  Jim's  lips  again,  and,  mother,  don't  you  cry." 
With  gentle,  trembling  haste  she  held  the  liquid  to  his  lip ; 
He  smiled  to  thank  her,  as  he  took  each  little,  tiny  sip. 

4.  "  Tell  father,  when  he  comes  from  work,  I  said  good-night  to  him 
And,  mother,  now  I'll  go  to  sleep."     Alas !  poor  little  Jim  I 
She  knew  that  he  was  dying ;  that  the  child  she  loved  so  dear. 
Had  uttered  the  last  words  she  might  ever  hope  to  hear: 

The  cottage  door  is  opened,  the  collier's  step  is  heard, 
The  father  and  the  mother  meet,  yet  neither  speak  a  word. 

5.  He  felt  that  all  was  over,  he  knew  his  child  was  dead. 
He  took  the  candle  in  his  hand  and  walked  toward  the  bed ; 
His  quivering  lips  gave  token  of  the  grief  he'd  lain  conceal. 
And  see,  his  wife  has  joined  him — the  stricken  couple  kneel: 
With  hearts  bowed  down  by  sadness,  they  humbly  ask  of  Him, 
In  heaven  once  more  to  meet  again  their  own  poor  Utile  Jim. 


NARRATIVE.  123 

XIX.— THE  SUNSET  OF  BATTLE. 

1.  The  shadows  of  evening  are  thickening.  Twilight 
iloses,  and  the  thin  mists  are  rising  in  the  valley.  The 
last  charging  squadron  yet  thunders  in  the  distance  ;  but 
it  presses  only  on  the  foiled  and  scattered  foe.  For  this 
day  the  6ght  is  over  1  And  those  who  rode  foremost  in  its 
field  at  morning — where  are  they  now  ?  On  the  bank  of 
)on  little  stream,  there  lies  a  knight,  his  life-blood  is  ebbing 
taster  than  its  tide.  II is  shield  is  rent,  and  his  lance  is  bro- 
ken. Soldier,  why  faintest  thou?  The  blood  that  swells 
from  that  deep  wound  will  answer. 

2.  It  was  this  morning  that  the  sun  rose  bright  upon  his 
hopes— it  sets  upon  his  grave.  This  day  he  led  the  foremost 
rank  of  spears,  that  in  their  long  row  leveled  when  they  had 
crossed  their  foe's  dark  line — then  death  shouted  in  the  on- 
set 1  It  was  the  last  blow  that  reached  him.  He  has  con- 
quered, though  he  shall  not  triumph  in  the  victory.  His 
breastplate  is  dinted.  His  helmet  has  the  traces  of  well- 
dealt  blows.  The  scarf  on  his  breast  —  she  would  shrink 
but  to  touch  it  now  who  placed  it  there.  Soldier,  what 
will  thy  mistress  say  ?  She  will  say  that  the  knight  died 
worthily. 

3.  Aye,  rouse  thee,  for  the  fight  yet  charges  in  the  dis- 
tance!  Thy  friends  are  shouting — thy  pennon  floats  on 
high.  Look  on  yon  crimsoned  field  that  seems  to  mock  the 
purple  clouds  above  it !  prostrate  they  lie,  drenched  in  their 
dark  red  pool ;  thy  friends  and  enemies  ;  the  dead  and  dy- 
ing !  The  veteran,  with  the  stripling  of  a  day.  The  name- 
less trooper,  and  the  leader  of  a  hundred  hosts.  Friend  lies 
by  friend.  The  steed  with  his  rider.  And  foes,  linked  in 
their  long  embrace — their  first  and  last — the  gripe  of  death. 
Far  o'er  the  field  they  lie,  a  gorgeous  prey  to  ruin  !  White 
plume  and  steel  morion  ;  saber  and  yataghan  ;  crescent  and 
cross  ;  rich  vest  and  bright  corslet ;  we  came  to  the  fight,  as 
we  had  come  to  a  feasting;  glorious  and  irlittering,  even  in 
death,  each  shining  warrior  lies! 

4.  His  last  glance  still  seeks  that  i  misiian  banner!  The 
cry  that  shall  never  be  repeated,  cheers  on  its  last  charge. 
Oh.  but  for  3tren;'th  to  reach  the  field  once  more  !   tt)  die  Id 


124  ELOCUTloJ. 

the  foe's  front  I  Peace,  dreamer/  Thou  habt  done  well 
Thy  place  in  the  close  rank  is  filled ;  and  yet  anothc  r  waits 
for  his  who  holds  if. 

5.  Knight,  hast  thou  yet  a  thought?  bend  it  on  Heaven  1 
The  past  is  gone;  the  future  lies  before  thee.  Gaze  on  yon 
gorgeous  sky;  thy  home  should  bo  beyond  it!  Life,  honor, 
love — they  pass  to  Him  that  gave  them.  Pride,  that  came 
00  like  ocean's  billows — see  round  thcc  how  it  lies  mute  and 
passive.  The  wealthy  here  are  poor.  The  high-born  have 
no  precedence.  The  strong  are  powerless;  the  mean,  con- 
tent. The  fair  and  lovely  have  no  followers.  Soldier !  she 
who  sped  thee  on  thy  course  to-day,  her  blue  eyes  shall  seek 
thee  in  the  conquering  ranks  to-morrow;  but  it  shall  seek 
thee  in  vain  !  Well  I  thus  it  is  thou  shouldst  have  died  !  — 
worth  all  to  live  for.  Wouldst  thou  be.  base  to  have  thy 
death  a  blessing?  Proud  necks  shall  mourn  for  thee. 
Bright  eyes  shall  weep  for  thee.  They  that  live  envy  thee. 
Death  !  glory  takes  out  thy  sting  I 

6.  Warrior  !  aye,  the  stream  of  that  rill  flows  cool ;  but 
thy  lip  no  more  shall  taste  it.  The  moonlight  that  silvers 
its  white  foam,  shall  glitter  on  thy  corslet,  when  thy  eye  is 
closed  and  dim.  Lo  !  now  the  night  is  coming.  The  mist 
is  gathering  on  the  hill.  The  fox  steals  forth  to  seek  his 
quarry,  and  the  gray  owl  sweeps  whirling  by,  rejoicing  in 
the  stillness.  Oh,  soldier!  how  sweetly  sounds  thy  lady's 
lute!  how  fragrant  are  the  dew-sprinkled  flowers  that  twine 
round  the  casement  from  which  she  leans  !  that  lute  shall 
enchant  thee,  those  flowers  shall  delight  thee — no  more  ! 

7.  One  other  charge  !  Soldier,  it  may  not  be.  To  thy 
saint  and  thy  lady  commend  thee  !  Hark  to  the  low  trum- 
pet that  sounds  the  recall !  Hark  to  its  long  note  ;  sweet  is 
that  sound  in  the  ears  of  the  spent  and  routed  foe  1  The 
victor  hears  it  not.  When  the  breath  rose  that  blew  that 
note,  he  lived ;  its  peal  has  rung,  and  his  spirit  has  departed. 
Heath!  thou  shouldst  be  the  soldier's  pillow!  Moon,  let  thy 
cold  light  this  night  fall  upon  him!  But,  morning,  thy  soft 
dews  shall  tempt  him  not !  the  soldier  must  wake  no  more. 
He  sleeps  the  sleep  of  honor.  His  cause  was  his  country's 
freedom,  and  her  faith.     He  is  dead  !     The  cross  of  a  Chris- 


NARRATIVB.  125 

tian  knight  is  on  his  hrcast;  his  lips  are  pressed  to  his  lady'g 
(okon.     Soldier,  farewell  I 


XX.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 
1. — ABSALOM    BESS. 

1.  A  BENEVOLENT  man  was  Absalom  Bess, — 
At  each  and  every  tale  of  distress 

He  blazed  right  up  like  a  rocket; 
He  felt  for  all  who  'neath  poverty's  smart 
Were  doomed  to  bear  life's  roughest  part, — 
lie  felt  for  them  in  his  inmost  heart, 

But  never  felt  in  his  pocket. 

2.  He  did  n't  know  rightly  what  was  meant 

By  the  Bible's  promised  four  hundred  per  cent., 

For  charity's  donation ; 
But  he  acted  as  if  he  thought  railroad  stocks. 
And  bonds  secure  beneath  earthly  locks, 
Were  better,  with  pockets  brim  full  of  rocks, 

Than  heavenly  speculation. 

3.  Yet  all  said  he  was  an  excellent  man ; 

For  the  poor  he'd  preach,  for  the  poor  he'd  plan,— 

To  better  them  he  was  willing; 
But  the  oldest  one  who  had  heard  him  pray. 
And  preach  for  the  poor  in  a  pitiful  way, 
Could  n't  remember,  exactly,  to  say 

Ho  had  ever  given  a  shilling. 

4.  0,  an  excellent  man  was  Absalom  Bess, 
And  the  world  threw  up  its  hands  to  bless, 

Whenever  his  name  was  mentioned ; 
But  he  died  one  day,  he  did,  and  0  1 
lie  went  right  down  to  the  shades  below, 
Where  all  are  bound,  I  fear,  to  go. 

Who  are  only  good  intentioned. 


8HILL1BS& 


2. — FAMINE. 

0,  the  long  and  dreary  winter! 
0,  the  cold  and  cruel  winter  I 
Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker, 
Fro/.(!  n  lake  and  river 


126  KLOCUTION. 

Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper, 
Fell  the  god  sdow  o'er  the  landscape, 
Fell  the  covering  snow  and  drifted 
Through  the  forest,  round  the  village. 

2.  Ilardly  from  his  buried  wigwam 
Could  tiie  hunter  force  a  passage ; 
With  his  mittens  and  his  snow-shoes, 
Vainly  walked  he  through  the  forest. 
Sought  for  beast  or  bird  and  found  none, 
Saw  no  track  of  deer  or  rabbit, 
In  the  snow  beheld  no  foot-prints. 
In  the  ghastly,  gleaming  forest 
Fell,  and  could  not  rise  from  weakness, 
Perished  there  from  oold  and  hunger. 

3    0,  the  famine  and  the  fever! 
0,  the  wasting  of  the  famine  I 
0,  the  blasting  of  the  fever  I 
0,  the  wailing  of  the  children  1 
0,  the  anguish  of  the  women  I 
All  the  earth  wjis  sick  and  famished. 
Hungry  was  the  air  around  them. 
Hungry  was  the  sky  above  them. 
And  the  hungry  stars  in  heaven 
Like  the  eyes  of  wolves  glared  at  them. 

LONQFKLLOir. 


XXI.— ANECDOTES. 
1. — VERY  SUGGESTIVE. 


A  CLERGYMAN,  preaching  a  sermon  on  some  particular  pa- 
triarch, was  extremely  high  in  his  panegyric,  and  spoke  of 
him  as  far  excelling  every  saint  in  the  calendar.  He  took  a 
view  of  the  celestial  hierarchy,  but  in  vain ;  he  could  not 
assign  to  his  saint  a  place  worthy  so  many  virtues  as  he  pos- 
sessed ;  every  sentence  ended  thus  :  "  Where,  then,  can  we 
place  this  great  patriarch?"  One  of  the  congregation,  tired 
at  last  of  the  repetition,  exclaimed,  "As  I  am  going  away, 
you  may  put  him  in  my  pew." 


NARRATIVE.  127 

2. — FIRST    EXPERIENCE. 

1.  A  VERY  intelligent  Irishman  tells  the  following  inci- 
dent of  his  experience  in  America:  I  came  to  this  country 
several  years  ago,  and,  as  soon  as  I  arrived,  hired  out  to  a 
gentleman  who  farmed  a  few  acres.  He  showed  me  over  the 
premises,  the  stables,  the  cow,  and  where  the  corn,  hay,  oats, 
etc.,  were  kept,  and  then  sent  me  in  to  my  supper.  Aftei 
Fupper,  he  said  to  me:  "James,  you  may  feed  the  cow,  and 
give  her  corn  in  the  ear^  I  went  out  and  walked  about, 
thinking,  "what  could  he  mean?  Had  I  understood  him?" 
1  scratched  my  head,  then  resolved  I  would  inquire  again  ; 
so  I  went  into  the  library  where  my  master  was  writing  very 
busily,  and  he  answered  without  looking  up  :  "I  thought  I 
told  you  to  give  the  cow  some  corn  in  the  ear.'' 

2.  I  went  out  more  puzzled  than  ever.  What  sort  of  an 
animal  must  this  Yankee  cow  be?  I  examined  her  mouth 
and  ears.  The  teeth  were  good,  and  the  ears  like  those  of 
kine  in  the  old  country.  Dripping  with  sweat,  I  entered  my 
master's  presence  once  more.  "  Please,  sir,  you  bid  me  give 
the  cow  some  corn  in  the  ear,  but  did  n't  you  mean  the 
mouthf  He  looked  at  me  a  moment,  and  then  burst  into 
such  a  convulsion  of  laughter,  that  I  made  for  the  stable  a8 
fast  as  my  feet  could  take  me,  thinking  I  was  in  the  service 
of  a  crazy  man. 

3. — EASY   TO    MAKE   SERMONS. 

1 .  'It  amazes  me  that  ministers  do  n't  write  better  sermons ; 
'I  am  sick  of  the  dull,  prosy  affairs,"  said  a  lady  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Dr.  Nesbit.  "  But  it  is  no  easy  m'atter,  my  good 
woman,  to  write  good  sermons,"  suggested  the  Doctor. 
''  Yes,"  rejoined  the  lady,  "  but  'you  are  so  long  about  it. 
I  cjuld  write  one  in  half  the  time  if  I  only  had  the  text." 
'•0,  if  a  text  is  all  you  want,"  said  Dr.  Nesbit,  "I  will  fur- 
•  ish  that.  Take  this  one  from  Solomon:  'It  is  better  to 
dwell  in  a  corner  of  a  house  top,  than  in  a  wide  house  with 
a  brawling  woman.'"  "Do  you  mean  wic,  sir?"  inquired 
the  lady  quickly.  "  0,  my  good  woman,"  was  the  response, 
"you  will  never  make  a  sermonizer ;  you  are  too  quick  in 
making  your  application." 


128  ELOCUTION. 


4. — THE   FORCE   OP   IMAGINATION. 

1  BucKLANi),  the  distinguished  geologist,  one  day,  after 
dissecting  a  Mississippi  alligator,  asked  a  good  many  uf  the 
most  distinguished  of  his  class  to  dine  with  him.  His  guests 
congregated.  The  dinner-table  looked  splendid,  with  glass, 
china,  and  plate,  and  the  meal  commenced  with  excellent 
loup.  "How  do  you  like  the  soup?"  asked  the  doctor,  after 
having  finished  his  own  plate,  addressing  a  famous  gour- 
mand of  the  day.  "Very  good,  indeed,"  answered  the  other; 
"  turtle,  is  it  not — I  only  ask  because  I  find  no  green  fat?" 
The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  I  think  it  has  something  of  a 
musky  taste,"  said  another,  "not  unpleasant,  but  peculiar." 

2.  "All  alligators  have,"  replied  Buckland,  "the  cayman 
particularly  so.     The  fellow  whom  I  dissected  this  morning, 

and  whom  you  have  just  been  eating "     There  was  a 

general  rout  of  the  whole  guests.  Every  one  turned  pale. 
Half-a-dozen  started  up  from  the  table.  Two  or  three  ran 
out  of  the  room  ;  and  only  two,  who  had  stout  stomachs,  re- 
mained till  the  close  of  an  excellent  entertainment.  "  See 
what  imagination  can  do  !  "  said  Buckland.  "  If  I  had  told 
them  it  was  turtle,  or  terrapin,  or  birds'-nest  soup,  they 
would  have  pronounced  it  excellent.  Such  is  prejudice." 
"  But  was  it  really  an  alligator  ?  "  asked  a  lady.  "  As  good 
a  cairs  head  as  ever  wore  a  coronet,"  answered  Buckland 


XXn.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 

1. —  THE   STREET   WAS    A    RUIN. 

I.  The  street  was  a  ruin,  and  night's  horrid  glare 
Illumined  vrith  terror  the  face  of  despair, 

AVhile  houseless,  bewailing, 

Mute  pity  assailing, 
A  mother's  wild  shrieks  pierced  the  merciless  air 
Beside  her  stood  Edward,  imploring  each  wind 
To  wake  his  loved  sister,  who  lingered  behind. 

Awake,  my  poor  Mary ! 

Oh!  fly  to  me,  Mary! 
In  ihe  arms  of  your  Edward  a  pillow  vou'll  find. 


NARRATIVE.  12.Q 

2.  In  vain  he  called,  for  now  the  volumed  smoke, 
Cracklinor  between  the  rafters,  broke  ; 
Through  the  rent  seams  the  forked  flames  aspire, 
All,  all  is  lost — the  roofs  on  fire!   the  roofs  on  fire  I 

A  flash  from  the  window  brought  Mai-y  to  view. 
She  screamed  as  around  her  the  flames  fiercely  blew, 

Where  art  thou,  mother  I 

Oh !  fly  to  me,  brother  1 
Ah  1  save  your  poor  ^lary,  who  lives  but  for  you  • 

Leave  not  poor  RIary ! 

Ah!  save  your  poor  Mary! 

3.  Her  visioned  form  descrying, 
On  wings  of  horror  flying, 

The  youth  directs  his  frantic  gaze, 
Then  plunges  in  the  maddening  blaze  I 
Aloft  he  dauntless  soars, 
The  flaming  room  explores ; 
The  roof  in  cinders  crushes, 
Through  tumbling  walls  he  rushes  I 
She's  safe  from  fear's  alarms: 
She  faints  in  Edward's  arms  I 
0!  nature,  such  thy  triumphs  are. 
Thy  simplest  child  can  bravely  dare. 

R.   TREAT  PAINS. 
2. — ENVY. 

Every  thing  contains  within  itself 
The  seeds  and  sources  of  its  own  corruption ; 
The  cankering  rust  corrodes  the  brightest  steel : 
The  moth  frets  out  your  garment,  and  the  worm 
Eats  its  slow  way  into  the  solid  oak : 
But  envy,  of  all  evil  things  the  worst. 
The  same  to-day,  to-morrow,  and  forever, 
Saps  and  consumes  the  heart  in  which  it  works. 

3. — THE   LIGHT-HOUSE. 

I.  Toe  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  oye. 

Than  if  day  in  its  pride  had  arniyed  it: 
The  land-breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure-arched  sky 

looked  pure  as  the  spirit  that  made  it : 
The  murmur  rose  soft,  as  I  silently  gazed 

On  the  shadowy  waves'  playful  motion, 
From  the  dim  distant  hill,  WW  the  light-house  fire  blosoJ 

Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean. 


130  ELOCUTION. 

2.  No  longer  the  joy  of  the  sailor-boy's  breast 

Wa«  heard  in  his  wildly-breathed  numbers ; 
The  KCu-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave-girdled  nest, 

The  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers : 
One  moment  I  looked  from  the  hill's  gentle  slope, 

All  bushed  was  the  billows'  commotion, 
And  o'er  them  the  light-house  looked  lovely  as  hope. 

That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 

3.  The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 

Yet,  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow, 
Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  star 

That  blaied  on  the  breast  of  the  billow : 
In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul  flies. 

And  death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion ; 
0,  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise, 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean  1  moori. 


XXIII.— FALSE  WITNESS  DETECTED. 

1.  "Do  you  entertain  any  ill-will  toward  the  prisoner?" 
asked  Therese's  counsel  of  the  attendant. 

"  None,"  said  the  witness. 

''  Have  you  ever  quarreled  with  her  ?  " 

"  No." 

2.  "Do  you  truly  believe  that  she  deposited  the  jewel  in 
her  trunk? 

"  I  do  not  like  to  think  ill  of  any  one." 

"That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question  :  —  do  you  believe 
that  she  put  it  there?" 

"  How  else  could  it  have  come  there  ?" 

"  Answer  me,  Yes  or  No,"  said  the  advocate.  "  Do  you 
believe  that  Therese  secreted  the  jewel  in  her  trunk?  Yes 
prNo?" 

"  Yes  !  "  at  last  faltered  out  the  attendant. 

3.  "Now,  my  girl,"  continued  the  advocate,  "pay  heed  to 
what  you  say  ;  remember  you  are  upon  your  oath  !  Wi:l 
you  swear  that  you  did  not  put  it  there  yourself?"  There 
was  a  pause  and  a  profound  silence.  After  about  a  minute 
had  elapsed,  "Well,"  said  the  advocate.  Another  pause; 
while,   in   an   assembly  where   hundreds   of   human   hearts 


NARRATIVE.  131 

were  throbbing,  not  an  individual  stirred,  or  even  appeared 
to  breathe,  such  was  the  pitch  of  intensity  to  which  the  su«- 
penso  of  the  court  was  wound  up. 

4.  "Well,"  said  the  advocate,  a  second  time;  will  you 
answer  me?  Will  you  swear,  that  you  yourself  did  not 
put  the  jewel  into  Therese's  trunk  ?  " 

"I  will  I  "  at  last  said  the  attendant,  boldly. 
"  You  swear  it?" 
"I  do." 

»*  And  why  did  you  not  answer  mo  at  once  ?  " 
*'  I  do  not  like  such  questions  to  be  put  to  me,"  replied 
the  attendant. 

5.  For  a  moment  the  advocate  was  silent.  A  feeling  of 
disappointment  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  court;  now  and 
then  a  half-suppressed  sigh  was  heard,  and  here  and  there  a 
handkerchief  was  lifted  to  an  eye,  which  was  no  sooner 
wiped  than  it  was  turned  again  upon  Thercse  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  most  lively  commiseration.  The  maid  her- 
self was  the  only  individual  who  appeared  perfectly  at  her 
)ase;  even  the  baroness  looked  as  if  her  firmness  was  on  the 
point  of  giving  way,  as  she  drew  closer  to  Therese,  round 
whose  waist  she  now  had  passed  her  arm. 

6.  "  You  have  done  with  the  witness  ?  "  said  the  advocate 
for  the  prosecution. 

"No,"  replied  the  oth^r,  and  reflected  for  a  moment  or 
two  longer.  At  length,  "Have  you  any  keys  of  your  own?" 
said  he. 

"  I  have !  " 
'    "  I  know  you  have,"  said  the  advocate.    "  Are  they  about 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Is  not  one  of  them  broken  ?  " 

After  a  pause,  "  Yes." 

7.  "  Show  them  to  me." 

The  witness,  after  searching  some  time  in  her  pocket,  took 
the  keys  out  and  presented  them. 

"  Let  the  trunk  be  brought  into  the  court,  said  the  advo* 
eate. 

8.  "  Now,  my  u;irl,  '  resumed  the  advocate,  "attend  to  the 


132  ELOCUTION. 

questions  which  I  am  going  to  put  to  yon,  and  deliberate 
well  before  you  reply ;  because  I  have  those  to  produce  who 
will  answer  them  truly,  should  you  fail  to  do  so.  Were  you 
ever  in  the  service  of  a  Monsieur  St.  Ange  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  attendant,  evidently  disconcerted. 

"Did  you  not  open,  in  that  gentleman's  house,  a  trunk 
that  was  not  your  own?" 

"  Yes,"  with  increased  confusion. 

"  Did  you  not  take  from  that  trunk  an  article  that  was  not 
your  own?" 

"Yes  ;  but  I  put  it  back  again." 

"  I  know  you  put  it  back  again,"  said  the  advocate.  "  You 
see,  my  girl,  I  am  acquainted  with  the  whole  affair;  but,  be- 
fore you  put  it  back  again,  were  you  not  aware  that  you 
were  observed  ?  " 

The  witness  was  silent 

9.  "Who  observed  you?  Was  it  not  your  mistress ?  Did 
she  not  accuse  you  of  intended  theft?  Were  you  not  in- 
stantly discharged?"  successively  asked  the  advocate,  with- 
out eliciting  any  reply.  "Why  do  you  not  answer,  girl?" 
peremptorily  demanded  he. 

"If  you  are  determined  to  destroy  my  character,"  said  the 
witness,  bursting  into  tears,  "  I  can  not  help  it." 

"No,"  rejoined  the  advocate ;  "  I  do  not  intend  to  destroy 
a  character;  I  mean  to  save  one, — one  which,  before  you 
quit  the  court,  I  shall  prove  to  be  as  free  from  soil  as  the 
snow  of  the  arm  which  is  leaning  upon  that  bar  !"  continued 
the  advocate,  pointing  towards  Therese. 

10.  The  trunk  was  here  brought  in.  "  You  know  that 
trunk?" 

"Yes.' 

"Whose  is  it?" 
"  It  belongs  to  the  prisoner." 
"And  these  are  your  keys?" 
"Yes." 

"Were  these  keys  out  of  your  possession  the  day  before 
that  trunk  was  searched,  and  the  jewel  found  in  it?" 
"  No." 
"  Nor  the  day  before  that  ?  " 


NARRATIVE.  139 

•■  Nm  ■ 

11.  Now  mind  what  you  arc  saying.  You  swear,  tliat,  for 
two  days  preceding  the  morning  upon  which  that  trunk  was 
"earchcd,  those  keys  were  nev«r  once  out  of  your  own  pos- 
session ?" 

"  I  do." 

"Will  not  one  of  these  keys  open  that  trunk?" 

The  witness  was  silent. 

"Never  mind  !  we  shall  try.  As  readily  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  it!"  resumed  the  advocate,  applying  the  key  and 
lifting  the  lid. 

12.  '*  There  may  be  fifty  keys  in  the  court  that  would  do 
the  same  thing,"  interposed  the  public  prosecutor. 

"  True,"  rejoined  his  brother  ;  "  but  this  is  not  one  of 
them,"  added  he,  holding  up  the  other  key,  "  for  she  tried 
this  key  first  and  broke,  as  you  see,  the  ward  in  the  at- 
tempt." 

"  How  will  you  prove  that?"  inquired  the  prosecutor. 

"  By  producing  the  separate  part." 

"Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"  In  the  lock  !  "  emphatically  exclaimed  the  advocate. 

A  groan  was  heard;  the  witness  had  fainted.  She  was  in- 
stantly removed,  and  the  innocence  of  Therese  was  as  clear 
as  the  noonday  I  knowles. 


XXIV.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 
1. — RAIN  ON   THE   ROOF. 

1  ^^  iiEN  the  humid  showers  gather  over  all  the  starry  spheres, 
And  the  melancholy  darkness  gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears, 

Tia  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow  of  a  cottage  chamber  bed, 
And  listen  to  the  patter  of  the  soft  rain  overhead. 

2  Every  tinkle  on  the  shingles  has  an  echo  in  the  heart. 
And  0  thousand  dreary  fancies  into  busy  being  start; 

And  a  thousand  recollections  weave  their  bright  hues  into  woof, 
As  1  listen  to  the  patter  of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof. 

3.  There  in  fancy  comes  my  mother,  as  she  used  to  years  agcne, 
Tm  survey  the  infant  sleepers  ere  she  left  them  till  the  dawn 


1   'I  ELOCUTION. 

1  can  see  her  bending  o'er  me,  as  I  listen  to  the  strain 
Which  is  pUjed  upon  the  shingles  by  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

4.  Then  my  little  seraph  sister,  with  her  wings  and  waving;  I  Jr 
And  her  bright-eyed,  cherub  brother — a  serene,  angelic  pair-  - 
Glide  an.)und  my  wakeful  pillow  with  their  praise  or  mild  repixxif, 
As  1  listen  to  the  murmur  of  the  sod  rain  on  the  roof. 

5.  And  another  comes  to  thrill  me  with  htY  eyes'  delicious  blue. 
I  forget,  as  gaxing  on  her,  that  her  heart  was  all  untrue ; 

I  remember  that  I  loved  her  as  I  ne'er  may  love  again. 

And  my  heart's  quick  pulses  yibrate  to  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

6.  There  is  naught  in  art's  bravuras  that  can  work  with  such  a  spell, 
[n  the  spirit's  pure,  deep  fountains,  whence  the  holy  poJiHions  swell, 
As  that  melody  of  nature — that  subdued,  subduing  strain. 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles  by  the  patter  of  the  rain  I 

COATES  KINNET. 
2. — THE   SHIPWRECK. 

1.  At  half-past  eight  o'clock,  booms,  hen-coops,  spars. 

And  all  things,  for  a  chance,  had  been  cast  loose. 
That  still  could  keep  afloat  the  struggling  tars ; 

For  yet  they  strove,  although  of  no  great  use. 
There  was  no  light  in  heaven  but  a  few  stars : 

The  boats  put  off,  o'ercrowded  with  their  crews: 
She  gave  a  heel,  and  then  a  lurch  to  port. 
And  going  down  head-foremost — sunk,  in  short. 

2.  Then  rose  from  sea  to  sky  the  wild  farewell ; 

Then  shrieked  the  timid,  and  stood  3tiU  the  brave; 
Then  some  leaped  overboard,  with  dreadful  yell, 

As  eager  to  anticipate  their  grave ; 
And  the  sea  yawned  around  her  like  a  bell ; 

And  down  she  sucked  with  her  the  whirling  wave. 
Like  one  who  grapples  with  his  enemy, 
And  strives  to  strangle  him  before  he  die. 

3.  And  first  a  universal  shriek  there  rushed. 

Louder  than  the  loud  ocean,  like  a  crash 
Of  echoing  thunder ;  and  then  all  was  hushed. 

Save  the  wild  wind  and  the  remorseless  dash 
Of  billows ;  but  at  intervals  there  gushed. 

Accompanied  with  a  convulsive  splash, 
A  solitary  shriek:  the  bubbling  cry 

Of  some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony.  btron. 


NARRATIVE.  13h 

XXV.— ANECDOTES. 
1. — SIDNEY   SMITH   ON   SWEARING. 

1.  Sidney  Smith,  when  traveling  in  a  stage-coach  one 
day,  long  before  railroads  were  dreamed  of,  was  terribly  an- 
noyed by  a  young  man  who  had  acquired  the  polite  habit  of 
Bwearing  to  such  an  extent,  that  he  interlarded  his  discourse 
with  it,  as  though  it  were  a  constituent  part  of  the  language. 
As  there  was  a  lady  present,  the  matter  was  doubly  annoy- 
ing. After  enduring  the  young  man's  displays  for  some 
time,  the  "  wag,  wit,  and  wicar,"  as  one  of  his  cockney  ad- 
mirers called  him,  asked  permission  to  tell  the  company  a 
little  anecdote,  and  thus  commenced  : 

2.  "Once  upon  a  time  —  boots,  sugar-tongs  and  tinder- 
boxes — there  was  a  king  of — boots,  sugar-tongs,  and  tinder- 
boxes — England  who,  at  a  great  ball, — boots,  sugar-tongs, 
and  tinder-boxes — picked  up  the  Duchess  of — boots,  sugar- 
tongs  and  tinder-boxes — Shrewsbury's  garter — boots,  sugar- 
tongs  and  tinder-boxes — and  said,  ^  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y — 
boots,  sugar-tongs  and  tinder-boxes — peiise,'  which  means  in 
English,  'Evil  to  him  who — boots,  sugar-tongs  and  tinder- 
boxes — evil  thinks.'  This  was  the  origin  of — boots,  sugar- 
tongs  and  tinder-boxes — the  order  of  the  garter." 

3.  When  Sidney  Smith  had  concluded,  the  young  gentle- 
man said,  "a  very  good  story,  sir;  but  what  has  boots, 
sugar-tongs,  and  tinder-boxes  to  do  with  it?"  "I  will  tell 
you,  my  young  friend,"  said  Smith,  "when  you  tell  mo 
what  blasphemy  has  lo  do  with  your  conversation.  In  the 
meantime  all     '  r  •    '        "    "^^   *    •  *   ••  -*-•'       *'    — f  nrin^." 

2. — TUE    liAUUliJTtll   AND    TUE    WITNESS. 

1.  TuERE  is  a  point  beyond  which  human  forbearance  can 
not  go,  and  the  most  even  of  tempers  will  become  roused  at 
timeb.  At  an  assizes  held  during  the  past  year,  both  judge 
and  counsel  had  a  deal  of  trouble  to  make  a  timid  witness 
speak  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard  by  the  jury;  and  it  is 
possible  that  the  temper  of  the  counsel  may  thereby  have 
been  turned  from  the  even  tenor  of  its  way.  After  this  gen 
tlcmnn   had  ^j-'wio  thron^rh  the   -r'   ■?•     '    -,  ■   r  •"  '-t-  plead 


186  ELOCUTION. 

ing,  and  had  coaxed,  threatened,  and  even  bullied-  witnesseb, 
there  was  called  into  the  box  a  young  ostler,  who  appeared 
to  be  simplicity  personified. 

LV  ''Now,  sir/'  said  the  counsel,  in  a  tone  that  would  dt 
any  other  time  have  been  denounced  as  vulgarly  loud,  "  I 
hope  we  shall  haVe  no  difficulty  in  making  you  speak  out." 

"  I  hope  not,  zur,"  was  shouted,  or  rather  bellowed  out  by 
the  witness,  in  tones  which  almost  shook  the  building,  and 
would  certainly  have  alarmed  any  timid  or  nervous  lady. 

"How  dare  you  speak  in  that  way,  sir?"  said  the  counsel. 

3.  "Please,  zur,  1  can't  speak  any  louder,"  said  the  aston- 
ished witness,  attempting  to  speak  louder  than  before,,  evi- 
dently thinking  the  fault  to  be  in  his  speaking  too  softly. 

"Pray,  have  you  been  drinking?"  shouted  the  counsel, 
who  had  now  thoroughly  lost  the  last  remnant  of  his  temper. 
"  Yes,  Eur,"  was  the  reply. 
"And  what  have  you  been  drinking?" 
"Corfee,  zur  I  " 

4.  "And  what  did  you  have  in  your  coffee,  sir?"  shouted 
the  exasperated  counsel. 

^*A  spunc,  zur!'*  innocently  bawled  the  witness,  in  his 
highest  key,  amidst  the  roars  of  the  whole  court — except- 
ing only  the  now  thoroughly  wild  counsel,  who  flung  down 
his  brief,  and  rushed  out  of  court. 

3. — POINTED  «EPROOP. 

1.  Some  eighty  years  ago  a  very  zealous  professor  of 
religion  went  to  Dr.  Gill,  and  told  him  she  had  something 
against  him,  and  she  considered  it  her  duty  to  reprove  him. 

2.  "Well,  my  good  lady,"  said  he,  "what  is  the  difficulty." 
"  Why,  sir,  I  think  your  bands  are  too  long." 

"Ahl  do  you?  I  have  never  thought  any  thing  about 
it;  1  will  get  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  I  will  thank  you  to  cut 
off  as  much  as  you  think  best." 

She  replied,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended." 

"Not  at  Jill,  not  at  all,  madam,"  he  replied. 

i.  Without  much  ceremony  she  folded  and  cut  off  quite 
ft  large  piece  of  the  bands. 

"Are  you  now  satisfied?    look  again  and  see;    perhaps 


NARRATIVK.  137 

you  had  better  cut  off  a  little  more  while  you  are  about  it, 
and  be  satisfied." 

"I  do  not  know  but  I  had ;  I  think  they  are  still  rather 
long;"  and  she  cut  off  a  second  piece,  saying,  "there,  I 
think,  that  will  do." 

4.  "Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  must  now  tell 
yuu  I  have  something  against  you." 

"  Have  you,  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  is  it?" 

"I  think  your  tongue  is  rather  too  long,  and  you  had  bet- 
ter let  me  cut  a  piece  off." 


XXVI.— HATE  OF  THE  BOWL. 

1.  Go  feel  what  I  have  felt — 

Go  bear  what  I  have  borne — 
Sink  'neath  the  blow  a  father  dealt. 

And  the  cold  world's  proud  scorn: 
Then  suffer  on  from  year  to  year — 
Thy  sole  relief  the  scorching  tear. 

2.  Go  kneel  as  I  have  knelt, 

Implore,  beseech,  and  pray — 
Strive  the  besotted  heart  to  melt, 

The  downward  course  to  stay — 
Be  dashed  with  bitter  curse  aside, 
Your  prayers  burlesqued,  your  tears  defied. 

3.  Go  weep  as  I  have  wept 

O'er  a  loved  father's  fall- 
See  every  promised  blessing  swept — 

Youth's  sweetness  turned  to  gall — 
Life's  fading  flowers  strewed  all  the  way. 
That  brought  me  up  to  woman's  day. 

4.  Go  see  what  I  have  seen — 

Behold  the  strong  man  bow. 
With  gnashing  teeth,  lips  bathed  in  bl)od. 

And  cold  and  livid  brow — 
Go  catch  his  withering  glance,  and  see 
There  mirrored,  his  soul's  misery. 

6.  Go  to  thy  rootber'a  side, 

And  her  crushed  bosom  cheer— 

KiDD.— 12 


138  ELOCUTION. 

Till  I  ; -ep  anguish  bide — 

^^  ijic  Irum  her  cheek  the  bitter  tear; 
Mark  her  wan  cheek  and  pallid  brow — 
The  gray  that  streaks  her  dark  hair  now— 
Her  failing  frame  and  trembling  limb ; 
And  trace  the  ruin  back  to  him 
Whose  blighted  faith,  in  early  youth, 
Promised  eternal  love  and  truth, 
But  who,  forsworn,  hath  yielded  up 
That  promise  to  the  cursed  cup; 
And  led  her  down,  through  love  and  light, 
And  all  that  made  her  prospects  bright ; 
And  chained  her  there,  mid  want  and  strife^ 
That  lowly  thing,  a  drunkard's  wife; 
And  stamped  on  childhood's  brow  so  mild, 
That  withering  blight,  a  drunkard's  child  I 

6.  Go  hear,  and  feel,  and  see,  and  know, 
All  that  my  $oul  hath  felt  and  known ; 

Then  look  upon  the  wine-cup's  glow — 
See  if  its  beauty  can  atone — 

Think  if  its  flavor  you  will  try! 

When  all  proclaim  'tis  drink  and  die! 

7    Tell  me  I  hate  the  bowl— 

Hate  is  a  feeble  word : 
I  loathe — abhor — my  very  soul 

With  strong  disgust  is  stirred— 
Whene'er  I  see,  or  hear,  or  tell. 
Of  the  dark  beverage  of  hell- 


XXVn.— STEAM-ENGINE. 


1 .  The  following  account  of  the  parts  of  the  steam-engine 
18  intended,  without  entering  into  minute  practical  details, 
still  fully  to  explain  the  principle  or  general  nature  of  the 
machine  It  should  serve  to  render  very  interesting  to  an 
attentive  reader,  a  visit  to  any  place  where  a  steam-engine 
is  in  use ;  and  it  should  make  evident  the  folly  of  many  of 
the  modern  schemes  for  improving  the  engine. 

2.  The  part  which  first  claims  attention,  is  the  great  barrel, 
constituting  the  center  or  main  portion  of  the  machine,  in 


NARRATIVE.  139 

which  <he  piston  is  moved  up  and  down  by  the  action  of 
steam  entering,  alternately  above  and  below  it,  through  thf 
pipes.  The  barrel,  or  cylinder,  is  bored  with  extreme  ac- 
curacy, and  the  piston  is  padded  round  its  edge  with  hemp 
or  other  soft  material,  so  as  to  be  perfectly  air  or  steam-tight. 
Lately,  pistons  have  been  made  altogether  of  metal,  and,  in 
some  cases,  from  working  with  less  friction,  these  answci 
even  better  than  others. 

3.  The  next  part  to  be  mentioned  is  the  boiler,  which  is 
made  of  suitable  size  and  strength.  The  steam  passes  from 
the  boiler  along  the  pipe,  and  there,  by  any  suitable  cock- 
er valves,  worked  by  the  engine  itself,  is  directed  alternately 
to  the  upper  and  under  part  of  the  barrel;  and  while  it  is 
entering  to  press  on  one  side  of  the  piston,  the  waste  steam 
is  allowed  to  escape  from  the  other  side,  either  to  the  at- 
mosphere, for  high-pressure  engines,  or  into  the  condenser, 
for  th?>se  of  low-pressure — the  condenser  being  always  kept 
at  a  low  temperature  by  cold  water  running  into  it,  and 
pumped  out  again  by  the  piston. 

4.  The  supply  of  steam  from  the  boiler  to  the  cylinder  is 
regulated  by  a  valve  placed  somewhere  in  the  pipe,  and 
made  obedient  to  what  is  called  the  governor,  which  may,  in 
truth,  be  described  as  a  pair  of  tongs  with  heavy  balls  at  the 
ends,  to  make  their  opening  more  energetic,  and  attached  to 
some  turning  part  of  the  machine.  If  the  engine  move  with 
more  than  the  assigned  speed,  the  balls  open  or  fly  asunder 
beyond  their  middle  station,  and,  by  a  simple  contrivance, 
are  then  made  to  act  on  a  valve  which  contracts  the  steam - 
tube  ;  on  tlic  contrary,  with  too  slow  a  motion,  they  collapse, 
and  open  the  valve.  The  supply  of  water  to  the  boiler  is 
regulated  by  a  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water  in  the 
boiler;  which  float,  on  descending  to  a  certain  point,  by 
reason  of  the  consumption  of  water,  opens  a  valve  to  ad- 
mit more.  There  is  a  safety  valve  in  the  boiler,  viz.,  a  well 
fitted  flap  or  stopper,  held  against  an  opening  by  a'weight, 
but  loaded  so  as  to  open  before  danger  can  arise  from  the 
overheating  of  the  water. 

5.  The  rapidity  of  the  combustion,  or  force  of  the  flre,  is 
exactly  regulated  of  the  boiler  wanti 


HO  ELOCUTION. 

of  the  machine,  thus:  there  is  a  large  open  tube  rising 
'^-om  near  the  bottom  of  the  boiler,  through  its  top,  to  a 
hight  of  several  feet;  and  when  the  water  in  the  boiler  is 
too  hot,  and  the  steam,  therefore,  too  strong,  part  of  the 
water  is  pressed  up  into  this  tube,  and,  by  the  agency  of  a 
float  which  rests  on  its  surface,  it  shuts  the  chimney-valve, 
or  damper;  the  draught  is  then  diminished,  and  the  fuel 
saved,  until  a  brisker  fire  is  again  required. 

G.  The  great  beam,  turning  on  an  axis,  transmits  the  force 
of  the  piston  to  the  remote  machinery.  When  the  object 
is  to  raise  water,  the  pump-rods  are  simply  connected  with 
the  end  of  the  beam;  but  when  any  rotary  motion  is 
wanted,  the  end  is  made  to  turn  a  crank  by  the  rod;  and 
uniformity  of  motion  is  obtained  by  the  influence  of  the 
great  fly-wheel  fixed  to  the  axis  of  the  crank. 

7.  The  fertile  genius  of  James  Watt  did  not  stop  at  the 
accomplishment  of  the  important  particulars  described  above; 
but  throughout  the  whole  detail  of  the  component  parts,  and 
of  the  various  applications  of  the  engine,  he  contrived  mi- 
racles of  simplicity  and  usefulness.  We  sliould  exceed  the 
prescribed  bounds  of  this  article,  by  entering  more  minutely 
into  the  subject;  but  we  may  remark,  that,  in  the  present 
perfect  state  of  the  engine,  it  appears  a  thing  almost  en- 
dowed with  intelligence. 

8.  It  regulates  with  perfect  accuracy  and  uniformity  the 
number  of  its  strokes  in  a  given  time,  counting  or  record- 
ing them  moreover,  to  tell  how  much  work  it  has  done,  as 
a  clock  records  the  beats  of  its  pendulum  ;  it  regulates  the 
quantity  of  steam  admitted  to  work  ;  the  briskness  of  the 
fire;  the  supply  of  water  to  the  boiler;  the  supply  of  coals 
to  the  fire ;  it  opens  and  shuts  its  valves  with  absolute  pre- 
cision as  to  time  and  manner;  it  oils  its  joints;  it  tak©? 
out  any  air  which  may  accidentally  enter  into  parts  whicli 
should  be  vacuous ;  and  when  any  thing  goes  wrong  which 
it  can  not  of  itself  rectify,  it  warns  its  attendants  by  ring- 
ing a  bell  :  yet,  with  all  these  talents  and  qualities,  and 
even  when  exerting  the  force  of  hundreds  of  horses,  it  ia 
obedient  to  the  hand  of  a  child. 

9.  Its  aliment  is  coal,  wood,  charcoal,  or  other  combust] 


NARKATIVE.  ]  n 

bles;  it  consumes  none  while  idle  ;  it  never  tires,  and  wants 
no  sleep;  it  is  not  subject  to  malady  when  originally  well 
made;  and  only  refuses  to  work  when  worn  out  with  age: 
it  is  equally  active  in  all  climates,  and  will  do  work  of  any 
kind ;  it  is  a  water  pumper,  a  miner,  a  sailor,  a  cotton- 
spinner,  a  weaver,  a  blacksmith,  a  miller,  etc.:  and  a  small 
engine  in  the  character  of  a  steam-pony,  may  be  seen 
dragging  after  it  on  a  railroad  a  hundred  tuns  of  merchan- 
dise, or  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  with  thrice  the  speed  of  our 
fleetest  horse-coaches.  It  is  the  king  of  machines,  and  a 
permanent  realization  of  the  Genii  of  Eastern  fable,  sub- 
mitting supernatural  powers  to  the  command  of  man. 

ARNOTT. 


XXVIII.— NATURE'S  GENTLEMAN. 

1.  WnoM   do  we  dub  as  gentlemen?    The  knave,  the  fool,  the 

brute — 
If  they  but  own  full  tithe  of  gold  and  wear  a  courtly  suit ! 
The  parchment  scroll  of  titled  line,  the  ribbon  at  the  knee, 
Can  still  suflSce  to  ratify  and  grant  such  high  degree : 
But  nature,  with  a  matchless  hand,  sends  forth  her  nobly  born. 
And  laughs  the  paltry  attributes  of  wealth  and  rank  to  scorn  ; 
She  moulds  with  care  a  spirit  rare,  half  human,  half  divine. 
And  cries  exulting,  "  Who  can  make  a  gentleman  like  mine  ?" 

2.  She  may  not  spend  her  common  skill  about  the  outward  part, 
But  showers  beauty,  grace,  and  light,  upon  the  mind  and  heart. 
She  may  not  choose  ancestral  fame  his  pathway  to  illume — 
The  sun  that  sheds  the  brightest  day  may  rise  from  mist  and  gloom. 
Should  fortune  pour  her  welcome  store,  and  useful  gold  abound, 
lie  shares  it  with  a  bounteous  hand  and  scatters  blessings  round. 
The  treasure  sent  is  rightly  spent,  and  serves  the  end  dcvsigued. 
When  held  by  nature's  gentleman,  the  good,  the  just,  the  kind. 

3.  He  turns  not  fror-  ♦'•>  ■J."«,i...;s  home,  wht»">  -Tr -w's  offspring! 

dwell ; 
He'll  greet  the  peuMUiL  m  m^s  nut — the  culj.iii  iu  mn  cell; 
lie  stays  to  hear  the  widow's  plaint  of  deep  and  mourning  love, 
lie  seeks  to  aid  her  lot  below,  and  prompt  her  faith  above  ; 
The  orphan  child,  the  friendless  one,  the  luckless,  or  the  poor, 
Will  never  njcct  his  spurning  frown,  or  leave  his  bolted  door; 
His  kindrod  circle  's  all  mankind,  his  cfuntry,  all  the  globe — 
An  hum-  It  is  jeweled  star,  and  truth,  his  ermine  robe. 


142  ELOCUTION. 

4.  lie  wisely  yields  his  passions  up  to  reason's  firm  control — 
His  pleasures  are  of  crimeless  kind,  and  never  taint  the  soul. 
lie  may  be  thrown  among  the  gay  and  reckless  sons  of  life, 
But  will  not  love  the  revel  scene,  nor  heed  the  brawling  strife. 
He  wounds  no  breast  with  jeer  or  jest,  yet  bears  no  honeyed  tongue! 
He's  social  with  the  gray-haired  one  and  merry  with  the  young; 
He  gravely  shares  the  council  speech  or  joins  the  rustic  game. 
And  shines  as  nature's  gentleman,  in  every  place  the  same. 

5.  No  haughty  gesture  marks  his  gait,  no  pomj»ous  tone  his  word, 
No  studied  attitude  is  seen,  no  palling  nonsense  heard ; 

He'll  suit  his  bearing  to  the  hour — laugh,  listen,  learn,  or  teach, 
With  joyous  freedom  in  his  mirth,  and  candor  in  his  speech. 
He  worships  God  with  inward  zeal,  and  serves  him  in  each  deed ; 
He  would  not  blame  another's  faith  nor  have  one  martyr  bleed ; 
Justice  and  mercy  form  his  code ;  he  puts  his  trust  in  Heaven ; 
His  prayer  is,  "  If  the  heart  mean  well,  may  all  else  be  forgiven  1'' 

6.  Though  few  of  such  may  gem  the  earth,  yet  such  rare  gems 

there  are. 
Each  shining  in  his  hallowed  sphere  as  virtue's  polar  star. 
Though  human  hearts  too  oft  are  found  all  gross,  corrupt,  and 

dark. 
Yet,  yet  some  bosoms  breathe  and  burn,  lit  by  Promethean  spark; 
There  are  some  spirits  nobly  just,  unwarped  by  pelf  or  pride. 
Great  in  the  calm  but  greater  still  when  dashed  by  adverse  tide, — 
They  hold  the  rank  no  king  can  give,  no  station  can  disgrace, 
Nature  puts  forth  her  gentlemen,  and  monarchs  must  give  place. 

ELIZA  COOK. 


XXIX.— THE   BAROMETER. 

1.  The  state  of  the  atmosphere,  as  to  weight,  differs  at 
different  times  in  the  same  situation,  so  as  to  produce  a 
change  of  about  three  inches  in  the  hight  of  the  mercurial 
barometer ;  that  is  to  say,  from  twenty-eight  to  thirty-one 
inches.  On  the  occasion  of  the  great  Lisbon  earthquake, 
however,  the  mercury  fell  so  far  in  the  barometers,  even  in 
Britain,  as  to  disappear  from  that  portion  at  the  top  usually 
!eft  uncovered  for  observation. 

2.  The  uncovered  part  of  a  barometer  is  commonly  five 
or  six  inches  in  length,  with  a  divided  scale  attached  to  it 


NARRATIVE.  1  \'j 

on  which  the  figures,  28,  29,  etc.,  indicate  the  number  of 
inches  from  the  surface  of  the  mercury,  at  the  bottom,  to 
the  respective  divisions : — on  the  lower  part  of  the  scale, 
the  words  wind  and  rain  are  generally  written;  meaning, 
that  when  the  mercury  sinks  to  them,  wind  and  rain  are 
to  be  expected ;  and  on  the  upper  part  dry  and  fine  appear, 
for  a  corresponding  reason  :  but  we  have  to  recollect,  thai 
it  is  not  the  absolute  hight  of  the  mercury  which  indicates 
the  existing  or  coming  weather,  but  the  recent  change  in 
its  hight  —  a  falling  barometer  usually  telling  of  wind  and 
rain,  a  rising  one,  of  serene  and  dry  weather. 

3.  But  we  may  remark  here,  that  when  water,  which  has 
been  suspended  in  the  atmosphere,  and  has  formed  a  part 
of  it,  separates  as  rain,  the  weight  and  bulk  of  the  mass 
are  diminished  :  and  a  wind  must  occur,  when  a  sudden 
condensation  of  aeriform  matter,  in  any  situation,  disturbs 
the  equilibrium  of  the  air;  for  the  air  around  will  rush 
towards  the  situation  of  diminished  pressure. 

4.  To  the  husbandman  the  barometer  is  of  considerable 
use,  by  aiding  and  correcting  the  prognostics  of  the  weather, 
which  he  draws  from  local  signs  familiar  tc  him ;  but  its 
great  use,  as  a  weather-glass,  seems  to  be  to  the  mariner, 
who  roams  over  the  whole  ocean,  and  is  often  under  skies 
and  climates  altogether  new  to  him.  The  watchful  captain 
of  the  present  day,  trusting  to  this  extraordinary  monitor, 
is  frequently  enabled  to  take  in  sail  and  to  make  ready  for 
the  storm,  where,  in  former  times,  the  dreadful  visitation 
would  have  fallen  on  him  unprepared. 

5.  The  marine  barometer  has  not  yet  been  in  general  us^ 
for  many  years,  and  the  author  of  this  work  was  one  of  a 
numerous  crew,  who  probably  owed  their  preservation  to 
Its  almost  miraculous  warning.  It  was  in  a  southern  lati- 
tude:  the  sun  had  just  set  with  placid  appearance,  closing 
a  beautiful  afternoon,  and  the  usual  mirth  of  the  evening 
watch  was  proceeding,  when  the  captain's  order  cam*;  to 
prepare,  with  all  haste,  for  a  storm.  The  barometer  li:i<] 
begun  to  fall  with  appalling  rapidity. 

6.  As  yet  the  oldest  sailors  had  not  perceived  a  threaten- 
ing ill  tlx    sky,  and  were  surprised  at  the  extent  and  hurry 


144  ELOCUTION. 

of  the  preparationa  ;  but  the  required  measures  were  not 
completed,  when  a  more  awful  hurricane  burst  upon  theru 
than  the  most  experienced  had  ever  braved.  Nothing  could 
withstand  it ;  the  sails,  already  furled,  and  closely  bound  to 
the  yards,  were  riven  away  in  tatters ;  even  the  yards  and 
masts  themselves  were  in  great  part  disabled,  and,  at  one 
time,  the  whole  had  nearly  fallen  by  the  board.  Such,  for 
a  few  hours,  was  the  mingled  roar  of  the  hurricane  among 
the  rigging,  of  the  waves  around,  and  of  the  incessant  peals 
of  thunder,  that  no  human  voice  could  be  heard  ;  and, 
amid  the  general  consternation,  even  the  trumpet  sounded 
in  vain. 

7.  In  that  awful  night,  but  for  the  little  tube  of  mercury 
which  had  given  the  warning,  neither  the  strength  of  the 
noble  ship,  nor  the  skill  and  energies  of  the  commander, 
could  have  availed  any  thing,  and  not  a  man  would  have 
escaped  to  tell  the  tale.  On  the  following  morning  the 
wind  was  again  at  rest,  but  the  ship  lay  upon  the  yet 
heaving  waves,  an  unsightly  wreck. 

A.RNOTT. 


XXX.— LEAP  FOR  LIFE. 

1.  Old  Ironsides  at  anchor  lay 

In  the  harbor  of  Mahon  ; 
A  dead  calm  rested  on  the  bay, 

And  the  winds  to  sleep  had  gone: 
When  little  Jack,  the  captain's  son, 

With  gallant  hardihood, 
Climbed  shroud  and  spar,  and  then  upon 

The  main  truck  rose  and  stood. 

2.  A  shudder  ran  through  every  vein, 

All  hands  were  turned  on  high ; 
There  stood  the  boy  with  dizzy  brain, 

Between  the  sea  and  sky. 
No  hold  had  he  above,  below. 

Alone  he  stood  in  air: 
At  that  far  height  none  dared  to  go ; 

No  aid  could  reach  him  thera 


NARRATIVE.  146 

Q   We  gazed,  but  not  a  man  cuuld  speak, 

With  horror  all  aghast; 
In  groups,  with  pallid  brow  and  cheek. 

We  watched  the  quivering  mast 
The  atmosphere  grew  thick  and  hot, 

And  of  a  lurid  hue, 
As  riveted  unto  the  spot 

Stood  officers  and  crew. 

4.  The  father  came  on  deck, — he  gasped, 

"Oh  God!  thy  will  be  done!" 
Then  suddenly  a  rifle  grasped, 

And  aimed  it  at  his  son  ; — 
"Jump!  far  out,  boy,  into  the  wave. 

Jump,  or  I  fire!"  he  said; 
"This  chance  alone  your  life  can  save. 

Jump!  jump!"    The  boy  obeyed. 

5.  lie  sunk,  he  rose,  he  lived,  he  moved, 

He  for  the  ship  struck  out — 
On  board  we  hailed  the  lad  beloved. 

With  many  a  manly  shout; 
Ilis  father  drew,  with  silent  joy. 

Those  wet  arms  round  his  neck, 
And  folded  to  his  heart  the  boy, 

Then  fainted  on  the  deck. 

OEO.  P.   MORRIS. 


XXXI.— THE  DEMAGOGUE. 

1.  The  lowest  of  politicians  is  that  man  who  seeks  to 
gratify  an  invariable  selfishness  by  pretending  to  seek  the 
public  good.  For  a  profitable  popularity  he  accommodatos 
himself  to  all  opinions,  to  all  dispositions,  to  every  side,  and 
to  every  prejudice.  He  is  a  mirror,  with  no  face  of  its  own 
but  a  smooth  surface  from  which  each  man  of  ten  thousan 
may  eee  himself  reflected. 

2.  He  glides  from  man  to  man  coinciding  with  their  views, 
simulating  their  tastes,  and  pretending  their  feelings;  with 
this  one  he  loves  a  man ;  with  that  one  he  hates  the  same 
man ;  he  favors  a  law,  and  he  dislikes  it ;  ho  approves  and 
opposes ;  he  is  on  both  sides  at  once,  and  seemingly  wishes 

KlDD— 13 


146  ELOCUTION 

that  he  cou)4  be  on  one  side  more,  flc  attends  meetings  to 
suppress  intemperance, — but  at  elections  makes  every  grog- 
shop free  to  all  drinkers.  He  can  with  equal  relish  plead 
most  eloquently  for  temperance,  or  toss  oflF  a  dozen  glasses 
of  whiskey  in  a  dirty  doggery. 

3.  He  thinks  that  there  is  a  time  for  every  thing,  and 
therefore  at  one  time  he  jeers  and  leers,  and  swears  with  a 
carousing  blackguard  crew  ;  and  at  another  time,  professing 
to  have  been  happily  converted,  he  displays  all  the  various 
features  of  devotion.  Indeed,  he  is  a  capacious  Christian — 
an  epitome  of  faith. 

4.  He  piously  asks  the  class-leader  of  the  welfare  of  his 
charge,  for  lie  was  always  a  Methodist,  and  always  will  be, — 
until  he  meets  a  Presbyterian ;  then  he  is  a  Presbyterian,  Old 
School  or  New,  as  the  case  requires ;  however,  as  he  is  not  a 
bigot,  he  can  afford  to  be  a  Baptist  in  a  good  Baptist  neigh- 
borhood, and  with  a  wink  he  tells  the  pious  elder  that  he 
never  had  one  of  his  children  baptized,  not  he !  He  whis- 
pers to  the  Reformer  that  he  abhors  all  creeds  but  Baptism 
and  the  Bible.  After  this,  room  will  be  found  in  his  heart 
for  the  fugitive  sects  also,  which  come  and  go  like  clouds  in 
a  summer-sky. 

5.  Upon  the  stump  his  tact  is  no  less  rare.  He  roars  and 
bawls  with  courageous  plainness,  on  points  about  which  all 
agree;  but  on  subjects  where  men  differ,  his' meaning  is  nicely 
balanced  on  a  pivot  that  it  may  dip  either  way.  He  depends 
for  success  chiefly  upon  humorous  stories.  A  glowing  pa- 
triot telling  stories  is  a  dangerous  antagonist ;  for  it  is  hard 
to  expose  the  fallacy  of  a  hearty  laugh,  and  men  convulsed 
with  merriment  are  slow  to  perceive  in  what  way  an  argu- 
ment is  a  reply  to  a  story  :  men  who  will  admit  that  he  has 
not  a  solitary  moral  virtue,  will  vote  for  him,  and  assist  him 

u  obtaining  the  office  to  which  he  aspires. 

H.   W.   BEECHEB. 


NARRATIVE.  l4T 

XXXII.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 
1. — THE   HYPOCRITE. 

1.  He  was  a  man, 

Who  stole  the  livery  of  the  court  of  heaven, 
To  servo  the  devil  in  ;  in  virtue's  guise. 
Devoured  the  widow's  house,  and  orphan's  bread ; 
In  holy  phrase,  transacted  villainies 
That  common  sinners  durst  not  meddle  with. 

2.  At  sacred  feast,  he  sat  among  the  saints, 
And  with  his  guilty  hands  touched  holiest  things; 
And  none  of  sin  lamented  more,  or  sighed 

More  deeply,  or  with  graver  countenance. 
Or  longer  prayer,  wept  o'er  the  dying  man, 
Whose  infant  children,  at  the  moment,  he 
Planned  how  to  rob.     In  sermon  style  he  bought, 
And  sold,  and  lied ;  and  salutation  made. 
In  Scripture  terms.     lie  prayed,  by  quantity. 
And  with  his  repetitions,  long  and  loud. 
All  knees  were  weary. 

3.  With  one  hand  he  put 

A  penny  in  the  urn  of  poverty, 

And  with  the  other  took  a  shilling  out 

On  charitable  lists, — those  trumps,  which  told 

The  public  ear,  who  had,  in  secret,  done 

The  poor  a  benefit,  and  half  the  alms 

They  told  of,  took  themselves  to  keep  them  sounding,— 

lie  blazed  his  name,  more  pleased  to  have  it  there. 

Than  in  the  book  of  life. 

4.  Seest  thou  the  man  1 

A  serpent  with  an  angel's  voice!  a  grave, 

With  flowers  bestrewed !  and  yet,  few  were  deceiyed. 

His  virtues,  being  over-done,  his  face. 

Too  grave,  his  prayers  too  long,  his  charities. 

Too  pompously  attended,  and  his  speech, 

Larded  too  frequently,  and  out  of  time. 

With  serious  phraseology,  were  rents. 

That  in  his  garments  opened,  in  spite  of  him, 

Thro'  which,  the  well-accu8t4)med  eye,  could  see 

The  rottenness  of  his  heart. 


Nb  ELOCUTION. 

2. — THE   MISER. 

1.  But  there  is  one  in  folly  farther  gone. 
With  eye  awry,  incurable,  and  wild. 

The  laughing-stock  of  demons  and  of  men, 
And  by  hi^  guardian  angel  quite  given  up — 
The  miser,  who  with  dust  inanimate 
Uolds  wedded  intercourse. 

2.  Ill-guided  wretch! 

Thou  mayst  have  seen  him  at  the  midnight  hour — 
When  good  men  sleep,  and  in  light-winged  dreams 
Send  up  their  souls  to  God — in  wasteful  hall, 
With  vigilance  and  fasting  worn  to  skin 
And  bone,  and  wrapped  in  most  debasing  rags — 
Thou  mayst  have  seen  him  bending  o'er  his  heaps. 
And  holding  strange  communion  with  his  gold; 
And  as  his  thievish  fancy  seems  to  hear 
The  night-man's  foot  approach,  starting  alarmed, 
And  in  his  old,  decrepit,  withered  hand, 
That  palsy  shakes,  grasping  the  yellow  earth 
To  make  it  sure. 

3.  Of  all  God  made  upright, 

And  in  their  nostrils  breathed  a  living  soul, 
Most  fiillen,  most  prone,  most  earthy,  most  debased ; 
Of  all  that  sell  Eternity  for  Time, 
None  bargain  on  so  easy  terms  with  Death. 
Elustrious  fool  I    nay,  most  inhuman  wretch  I 
lie  sits  among  his  bags,  and,  with  a  look 
Which  hell  might  be  ashamed  of,  drives  the  poor 
Away  unalmsed,  and  midst  abundance  dies, 
Sorest  of  evils  I  dies  of  utter  want. 

POLLOK 


XXXIIL— THE  WHALE-SHIP  AND  THE  CANNIBALS. 
1.  A  New  England  whale-ship  foundered  in  a  gale,  some 
years  ago,  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Her  crew  took  to  the  boats  j 
and,  after  toiling  for  several  days  and  nights,  two  of  the 
boats  came  in  sight  of  an  island.  One  of  them  was  run 
through  the  surf,  and  the  crew  jumped  on  shore,  making 
signs  to  the  natives,  to  express  their  destitute  condition. 
But  no  pity  dwelt  in  those  savage  breasts.     Rushing  upon 


NARRATIVE.  149 

the  exhausted  seamen  with  their  clubs,  they  instantly  killed 
Ihcm,  and  made  preparations  to  feast  upon  their  bodies,  for 
(hey  were  cannibals. 

2.  Seeing  the  fate  of  their  companions,  the  other  boat's 
crew  pulled  hastily  away  from  that  dreadful  spot ;  and,  after 
almost  incredible  sufferings  were  picked  up  by  a  friendly 
vessel  and  saved.  Some  years  passed,  and  another  ship  was 
wrecked  in  the  same  seas,  and  near  the  same  island.  Her 
commander  had  been  second  mate  of  the  former  ship,  and 
was  saved  with  the  boat's  crew  which  witnessed  the  destruc- 
tion of  their  ship-mates  by  the  cannibals.  Again  he  ap- 
proached the  island,  a  wrecked  mariner,  and  reduced  by 
hunger  and  exhaustion  to  an  emaciated  state.  He  recog- 
nized the  fatal  shore,  and  told  his  companions  of  the  cannibals 
who  dwelt  beyond  it.  But  they  were  too  weak  to  put  out  to 
sea  again.  To  do  so  was  to  die.  They  could  but  die  if  thej 
landed  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  savages  might  be  merciful. 

'V  T'orceiving  none  of  the  natives,  they  hauled  their  boat 
the  beach,  and  sought  the  shelter  of  the  adjoining 
wooas,  in  the  hope  of  finding  fruits  or  berries  for  subsist- 
ence. But,  once  in  the  woods,  their  fears  increased.  They 
moved  stealthily  along,  alarmed  at  the  cracking  of  the  dry 
bushes  beneath  their  feet,  and  at  the  rustling  of  the  leaves. 

4.  Death  seemed  to  speak  in  every  sound,  and  to  leer 
upon  them  through  every  opening  glade  of  the  forest.  Cold 
sweats  gathered  on  their  sunburnt  brows ;  and  more  than 
once  they  halted,  and  consulted  on  the  propriety  of  return 
ing  to  the  boat ;  but  as  often  they  resolved  to  advance,  es- 
pecially as  they  found  themselves  ascending  a  wooded  hill, 
which  they  hoped  might  furnish  them  with  a  nook  or  jave 
in  which  to  hide.     Thus  trembling  they  proceeded. 

5.  They  approached  the  summit  of  the  hill,  which  wai 
bold  and  rocky.  The  foremost  of  the  party  ventured  from 
the  shelter  of  the  trees  to  view  the  island.  Cautiously  he 
stole,  step  by  step,  to  the  mountain's  brow,  till  his  eye 
caught  sight  of  the  village  below.  Then  he  literally  sprang 
into  the  air,  clapped  his  hands  and  shouted,  ^^Sa/e !  Safe  I 
8AFKI" 

G.  "What  is  the  matter?"   asked  his  companions,  who 


150  ELOCUTION. 

thought  him  crazy.  "We  are  safe,  I  tell  you,  we  are  safe  !** 
pointing  to  the  village  on  the  plain  below.  Looking  down, 
the  now  joyful  seamen  beheld  a  church  lifting  its  modest 
front  above  the  huts  of  the  natives. 

7.  Then  they  shared  in  the  transports  of  their  companion. 
They  leaped,  they  wept,  they  embraced.  They  knew  by  the 
church  that  the  missionary  was  there.  They  knew  that  whare 
he  lived  and  labored,  cannibalism  must  be  dead.  They  ao- 
cordingly  descended  to  the  plain,  and  found,  instead  of  a 
cruel  death,  the  utmost  kindness,  perfect  security,  and  a 
generous  hospitality.  Had  those  wrecked  mariners  been 
skeptics  or  infidels,  would  they  have  needed  any  further 
proof  of  the  humanizing  and  renovating  power  of  the  Gos- 
f  il,  or  of  the  utility  of  missions  ? 


XXXIV.— AFTER  A  TEMPEST. 

1.  The  day  had  been  a  day  of  wind  and  storm ;  — 

The  wind  was  laid,  the  storm  was  overpassed, 
And,  stooping  from  the  zenith,  bright  and  warm, 

Shone  the  great  sun  on  the  wide  earth  at  last 

I  stood  upon  the  upland  slope  and  cast 
My  eye  upon  a  broad  and  beauteous  scone, 

Where  the  vast  plain  lay  girt  by  mountains  vast, 
And  hills  o'er  hills  lifted  their  heads  of  green, 
With  pleasant  vales  scooped  out,  and  villages  between. 

2.  The  rain-drops  glistened  on  the  trees  around, 

Whose  shadows  on  the  tall  grass  were  not  stirred, 
Save  when  a  shower  of  diamonds,  to  the  ground, 

Was  shaken  by  the  flight  of  startled  bird; 

For  birds  were  warbling  round,  and  bees  were  heard 
About  the  flowers;  the  cheerful  rivulet  sung 

And  gossiped,  as  he  hastened  ocean-ward ; 
To  the  gray  oak,  the  squirrel,  chiding,  clung, 
And,  chirping,  from  the  ground  the  grasshopper  upsprung. 

3.  And  from  beneath  the  leaves,  that  kept  them  dry, 

Flew  many  a  glittering  insect  here  and  there ; 
And  darted  up  and  down  the  butterfly, 
That  seemed  a  living  blossom  of  the  air. 
The  flocks  came  scattering  <'rom  the  thicket,  where 


NARRATIVE.  151 

The  violent  rain  had  pent  them ;  in  the  way 

Strolled  groups  of  damsels,  frolicsome  and  fair; 
The  farmer  swung  the  scythe  or  turned  the  hay, 
And  'twixt  the  heavy  swaths  his  children  were  at  play 

4.  It  was  a  scene  of  peace — and,  like  a  spell, 

Did  that  serene  and  golden  sunlight  fall 
Upon  the  motionless  wood  that  clothed  the  cell, 

And  precipice,  upspringing  like  a  wall, 

And  glassy  rivers,  and  white  waterfall, 
And  happy  living  things  that  trod  the  bright 

And  beauteous  scene;  while,  far  beyond  them  all. 
On  many  a  lovely  valley,  out  of  sight, 
Was  poured  from  the  blue  heavens  the  same  soft,  gdden  light 

5.  I  looked,  and  thought  the  quiet  of  the  scene 

An  emblem  of  the  peace  that  yet  shall  be, 
When  o'er  earth's  continents,  and  isles  between. 

The  noise  of  war  shall  cease  from  sea  to  sea, 

And  married  nations  dwell  in  harmony  ; 
When  millions,  crouching  in  the  dust  to  one. 

No  more  shall  beg  their  lives  on  bended  knee. 
Nor  the  black  stake  be  dressed,  nor  in  the  sun 
The  o'erlabored  captive  toil,  and  wish  his  life  were  done. 

6.  Too  long  a  clash  of  arms  amid  her  bowers. 

And  pools  of  blood,  the  earth  has  stood  aghast. 
The  fair  earth,  that  should  only  blush  with  flowers 

And  ruddy  fruits;  but  not  for  aye  can  last 

The  storm;  and  sweet  the  sunshine  when  'tis  past: 
Lo,  the  clouds  roll  away — they  break — they  fly. 

And,  like  the  glorious  lights  of  summer,  cast 
O'er  the  wide  landscape  from  the  embracing  sky, 
On  al  the  peaceful  world  the  smile  of  heaven  shall  1>e. 

BRTAUT 


XXXV.— ANECDOTES. 
1. — CIRCUMSTANTIAL    EVIDENCE. 

1.  The  Bceno  of  the  following  anecdote  is  laid  in  tdraw 
in^-room  in  Paris.  One  of  the  company  was  showing  a  gold 
medal  which  had  been  awarded  him,  and  which  was  worth 
five  thousand  francs.  The  medal  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 
•nd  when,   half  an  hour  afterward,  the  owner  asked  for  it 


152  ELOCUTION. 

again,  it  could  not  be  found.     Every  nook  and  corner  ^aa 
searched,  but  in  vain. 

2.  This  sudden  disappearance  produced  considerable  agi- 
tation in  the  company,  which  was  select  but  numerous,  and 
finally  some  one  proposed  that  every  one  should  be  searched, 
the  men  by  the  men  and  the  women  by  the  women.  All 
the  persons  present  eagerly  signified  their  assent,  with  the 
exception  of  a  single  individual,  who  was  presented  that 
very  night  for  the  first  time  in  the  house.  This  man  de- 
clared  very  calmly,  but  very  decidedly,  that  he  could  not 
consent  to  be  searched.  The  effect  these  words  produced 
may  easily  be  imagined.  It  was  no  longer  doubted  that  he 
was  the  robber,  and  the  gentleman  who  introduced  him 
was  more  dead  than  alive. 

3.  The  master  of  the  house  was  about  turning  the  sup- 
posed-thief into  the  street,  and  the  owner  of  the  medal  was 
about  entreating  the  company  to  forget  the  circumstance, 
when  a  lady  having  risen  from  her  seat,  lo  !  the  missing 
medal  suddenly  fell  out  of  one  of  the  flounces  of  her  dress, 
into  which  it  had  accidentally  slipped  and  buried  itself. 
The  sensation  produced  by  the  sudden  denouement  was  pro- 
digious. A  cry  of  joyful  surprise  resounded  throughout 
the  room.  The  indiyidual  suspected  of  the  theft  was  de- 
clared innocent. 

4.  Renouncing  the  stoical  calmness,  verging  on  indiffer- 
ence, which  had  hitherto  characterized  his  demeanor,  "  This," 
said  he,  "  gentlemen,  is  the  explanation  of  my  conduct,  which 
doubtless  seemed  to  you  inexplicable.  If  I  would  not  con- 
sent to  be  searched,  it  w,is  because  I  was  a  stranger  to  every 
one  present,  with  one  exception,  and  because,  by  a  strange 
coincidence — so  strange  that  no  one  would  have  believed  it 
possible — I  had  on  my  person  a  medal  exactly  similar  to 
the  one  that  was  lost." 

5.  He  then  produced  the  medal,  which,  if  it  had  been 
found  on  him,  would  have  ruined  him  a  quarter  of  an  houi 
before,  but  which  was  now  but  an  additional  proof  of  his 
innocence.  This  incident  is  but  another  proof  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  human  judgment. 


NAURATIVE.  lt)?i 


2. — ALL   GONE   OUT. 


A  OLNTLEMAN  having  appointed  to  meet  his  friend  on 
particular  business,  went  to  the  house  and  knocked  at  the 
door,  which  was  opened  by  a  servant  girl.  He  informed 
her  he  wanted  her  master.  "lie  is  gone  out,  sir,"  said  sho. 
"Then  your  mistress  will  do,"  said  the  gentleman.  "She 
i»  gone  out,  too,"  said  the  girl.  "  My  business  is  of  con- 
sequence," returned  he:  "is  your  master's  son  at  home?" 
"No  sir;  he  is  gone  out.'*  "That's  unlucky,  indeed;  but 
perhaps  it  may  not  be  long  before  they  return — I  will  step 
in  and  sit  by  your  fire."  "0,  sir,  the  fire  has  gone  out 
too  I"  said  the  girl.  Upon  which  the  gentleman  bade  her 
inform  her  master,  that  he  did  not  expect  to  be  received  so 
coolly. 

3. — EXPRESSIVE   GESTURE. 

Emphasis  is  known  to  be  of  great  consequence  to  a 
public  speaker.  Gesture  is  sometimes  equally  impressive. 
An  anecdote  is  related  of  a  clergyman  who  was  tormented 
with  a  termagant  wife.  In  the  course  of  time  she  paid 
"  the  debt  of  nature,"  and  her  husband  personally  officiated 
at  her  funeral.  Uis  speech  was  devoted  in  part  to  "  the 
thousand  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  and  was  concluded  by  a 
Scripture  quotation.  Extending  his  right  hand  toward  the 
grave,  he  said: — "There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling," 
and  then  placing  the  same  hand  on  his  heart,  he  added, 
'  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 


XXXVI.— MARCO  BOZZARia 

lie  fell   in  nn   attack  upon   the  Turkish  camp  at  Laepi,  the  site  of  thf 
tncicnt    Pl.iton.  Aii;;u»t   20,  1823,  and  expired   in  the  moment  of  vittory 
II u  1 ...   u„rda  wore — "To  die  for  liberty  is  a  pleasure,  and  not  a  pain." 

1 .  At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent. 

The  Turk  was  drcoming  of  the  hour, 

When  Greece,  her  knco  in  RuppHance  bent^ 
Should  tremble  at  his  power : 

In  dreams,  througli  camp  and  court,  he  bore 

The  trophies  of  a  conqueror  ; 


154  ELOCOTION. 

In  dreams  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet  ring: 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne,  a  king; 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing, 

As  Eden's  garden-bird. 

2    At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band, 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades. 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
Tliere,  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood. 
There  had  the  ghid  earth  drunk  their  blood, 

On  old  Piatca's  day  ; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 
The  sons  of  sires,  who  conquered  there. 
With  arms  to  strike,  and  souls  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  thej. 

3.  An  hour  passed  on — the  Turk  awoke: 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last; 
lie  woke  to  heair  his  sentries  shriek, 
"To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek  1" 
He  woke — to  die  'midst  flame,  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  saber  stroke. 

And  death-shots,  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud; 
And  heard,  with  voice,  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris,  cheer  his  band : 
"Strike!  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 
Strike!  for  your  altars  and  your  fires; 
Strike !  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires  ; 

God,  and  your  native  land  I " 

4.  They  fought,  like  brave  men,  long  and  well; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain. 
They  conquered — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile,  when  rang  the  proud  hurrah! 

And  the  red  field  was  won  ; 
Then  saw,  in  death,  his  eyelids  close, 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, . 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 


NARRATIVE.  155 

Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  Death  I 

Come  to  the  mother,  when  she  foeli«, 
For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath  ; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence,  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form, 
The  earthquake's  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 
Conio  when  the  heart  beats  high,  and  warm, 

With  banquet-song,  and  dance,  and  wine. 
And  thou  art  terrible!  the  tear. 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier  ; 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear, 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But,  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

llaa  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word, 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Bozzaris!  with  the  storied  brave, 

Greece  nurtured,  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee — there  is  no  prouder  grave. 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
We  tell  thy  doom  without  a  sigh  ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's — 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names. 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


XXXVII.— ANECDOTES. 
1. — BENEVOLENCE. 

1.  At  a  missionary  meeting  among  the  negroes  in  the  West 
Indies,  it  is  related,  these  three  resolutions  were  adopted  • 

(1.)  We  will  all  give  something. 

(2.)  W^c  will  all  give  according  to  our  abilities. 

(3.)  Wo  will  all  give  willingly. 

2.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  a  leading  negro  took  his 
seat  at  a  table,  with  pen  and  ink,  to  put  down  what  each 
eame  to  contribute.  Many  advanced  to  the  table,  and 
.tanded   in    tluir   coutributi  md  some  less. 


156  ELOCUTION. 

Among  the  contributors  was  an  old  negro,  who  was  ver^ 
rich,  almost  as  rich  as  all  the  rest  united.  He  threw  down 
a  small  silver  coin.  "  Take  dat  back  again,"  said  the  chair- 
man of  the  meeting.  "  Dat  may  be  'cording  to  de  fust 
resolution,  but  not  'cording  to  de  second." 

3.  The  rich  old  man  accordingly  took  it  up,  and  hobbled 
back  to  his  seat  much  enraged.  One  after  another  came 
forward,  and  all  giving  more  than  himself,  he  was  ashamed, 
and  again  threw  a  piece  of  money  on  the  table,  saying, 
"Dar,  take  dat !"  It  was  a  valuable  piece  of  gold,  but  given 
Bo  ill-tcmperedly,  that  the  chairman  answered,  "  No,  sir,  dat 
won't  do!  Dat  may  be  'cording  to  de  fust  and  second  reso- 
lutions, but  not  'cording  to  de  third."  He  was  obliged  to 
take  it  up  again.  Still  angry  with  himself  and  all  the  rest, 
he  sat  a  long  time,  until  nearly  all  were  gone,  and  then 
advanced  to  the  table,  with  a  smile  on  his  countenance,  and 
laid  a  large  sum  of  money  on  the  table.  "  Dar,  now,  berry 
well,"  said  the  presiding  negro;  "dat  will  do;  dat  am 
'cording  to  all  de  resolutions." 

2. — A   CONSIDERATE    DOCTOR. 

1.  A  POOR  girl,  who  had  just  recovered  from  a  fit  of  sick- 
ness, gathered  up  her  scanty  earnings,  and  went  to  the 
doctor's  office  to  settle  her  bill.  Just  at  the  door,  the  law- 
yer of  the  place  passed  into  the  office  before  her,  on  a 
similar  errand. 

"  Well,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  I  am  indebted  to  you, 
and  I  should  like  to  know  how  much." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  attended  upon  you  about  a 
week,  and  what  should  you  charge  me  for  a  week's  ser- 
vice? or  what  do  you  realize,  on  an  average,  for  a  week's 
service  ?" 

2.  "  O,"  said  the  lawyer,  "perhaps  seventy-five  dollars." 
"Very  well,  then,  as  my  time  and  profession  are  as  valu- 
able as  yours,  your  bill  is  seventy  five  dollars." 

The  poor  girl's  heart  sunk  within  her,  for  should  her  oill 
be  any  thing  like  that,  how  could  she  ever  pay?  The  law- 
yer paid  his  bill  and  passed  out,  when  the  doctor  turned  to 
the  young  woman,  and  kindly  inquired  her  errand. 


N  A  R  K  A  T  1  V  i;  .  157 

3.  "  1  come,"  said  she,  ''  to  know  what  I  owe  you,  a)* 
though  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  ever  pay  you." 

"  I  attended  you  about  a  week,"  said  be. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  What  do  you  earn  a  week  ?" 

"  Seventy-five  cents." 

"Is  that  all?" 

*•  Yes,  sir." 
Then  your  bill  is  seventy-five  cents." 

The  poor  girl  paid  him  thankfully,  and  went  back  with  a 
light  heart. 

3. — KILL   OR    CURE. 

A  DOCTOR  was  employed  by  a  poor  man  to  attend  hia 
wife,  who  was  dangerously  ill.  The  doctor  gave  a  hint  that 
he  had  fears  of  not  being  paid. 

"I  have  five  pounds,"  said  the  man  to  the  doctor,  "and 
if  you  kill  or  airc^  you  shall  have  them."  The  woman  died 
in  the  doctor's  hands,  and  after  a  reasonable  time  he  called 
for  his  five  pounds.  The  man  asked  the  doctor  if  he  killed 
hia  wife  ? 

•'No!" 

•'Did  you  cureT' 

"No!" 

"  Then,"  said  the  poor  man,  "  you  have  no  legal  demand  !" 


XXXVm.— DAVIDS  LAMENT  OVER  ABSALOM. 

1.  The  king  stood  still 

Till  the  last  echo  died  ;  then,  throwing  off 
The  sack-cloth  from  his  brow,  and  laying  back 
The  pall  from  the  still  features  of  his  child, 
IIo  bowed  his  head  upon  him,  and  broke  forth 
In  the  resistless  eloquence  of  woe: 

2.  "Alast  my  noble  boy,  that  thou  shouldst  die! 

Thou,  who  wcrt  made  so  beautifully  fairl 
That  death  should  settle  in  thy  glorious  eye, 

And  leave  his  stillness  in  this  clustering  hair! 
How  could  he  mark  thee  for  the  silent  tomb, 

My  proud  boy,  Absalom! 


158  ELOCUTION 

3.  Cold  is  thy  brow,  my  son,  and  I  am  chill. 

As  to  my  bosom  I  have  tried  to  press  thee. 
How  was  I  wont  to  feel  my  pulses  thrill, 

Like  a  rich  harp-string,  yearning  to  caress  thee, 
And  hear  thy  sweet  *my  father,*  from  these  dumb, 

And  cold  lips,  Absalom! 

4.  The  grave  hath  won  thee.     I  shall  hear  the  gush 

Of  music,  and  the  voices  of  the  young ; 
And  life  will  pass  me  in  the  mantling  blush. 

And  the  dark  tresses  to  the  soft  winds  flung; 
But  thou  no  more,  Avith  thy  sweet  voice,  shalt  come 

To  meet  me,  Absalom ! 

5.  But,  oh !  when  I  am  stricken,  and  my  heart. 

Like  a  bruised  reed,  is  waiting  to  be  broken, 
How  will  its  love  for  thee,  as  I  depart. 

Yearn  for  thine  ear,  to  drink  its  last,  deep  token  I 
It  were  so  sweet,  amid  death's  gathering  gloom. 

To  see  thee,  Absalom  I 

6.  And  now  farewell !    'T  is  hard  to  give  thee  up. 

With  death,  so  like  a  gentle  slumber,  on  thee; 
And  thy  dark  sin!  oh!  I  could  drink  the  cup. 

If,  from  this  woe,  its  bitterness  had  won  thee. 
May  God  have  called  thee,  like  a  wanderer,  home, 

My  erring  Absalom  ! " 

7.  He  covered  up  his  face,  and  bowed  himself, 
A  moment,  on  his  child ;  then,  giving  him 
A  look  of  melting  tenderness,  he  clasped 
Ilis  hands  convulsively,  as  if  in  prayer; 
And,  as  a  strength  were  given  him  of  God, 
He  rose  up  calmly,  and  composed  the  pall, 
Firmly  and  decently,  and  left  him  there, 
As  if  his  rest  had  been  a  breathing  sleep. 


XXXIX.— CHARACTER  OF  THE  IRISH  PEASANTRY. 

1.  The  Irish  people  have  been  as  little  known  to,  as  thcj 

have  been  grossly  defiimed  by  the  rest  of  Europe.    The  Irish 

peasantry,  who   necessarily  compose    the  great  body  of  the 

population,  combine  in   tbeir  character  mauv  of  thoRp  sin- 


NARRATIVE.  159 

gular  and  repugnant  qualities  which  peculiarly  designate 
the  people  of  different  nations;  and  this  remarkable  con- 
trariety of  characteristic  traits  pervades  almost  the  whole 
current  of  their  natural  dispositions.  Laborious,  domestic, 
accustomed  to  wants  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  they  submit 
lo  hardships  without  repining,  and  bear  the  severest  priva- 
tions with  stoic  fortitude.  The  sharpest  wit,  and  the 
shrewdest  subtilty,  which  abound  in  the  character  of  the 
Irish  peasant,  generally  lie  concealed  under  the  semblance 
of  dullness,  or  the  appearance  of  simplicity ;  and  his  lan- 
guage, replete  with  the  keenest  humor,  possesses  an  idiom 
of  equivocation,  which  never  fails  successfully  to  evade  a 
direct  answer  to  an  unwelcome  question. 

2.  Inquisitive,  artful,  and  penetrating,  the  Irish  peasant 
learns  mankind  without  extensive  intercourse,  and  has  an 
instinctive  knowledge  of  the  world,  without  mingling  in  its 
vocieties;  and  never,  in  any  other  instance,  did  there  exist 
a  poople  who  could  display  so  much  address  and  so  much 
talent  in  the  ordinary  transactions  of  life  as  the  Irish 
peasantry. 

3.  The  Irish  peasant  has,  at  all  periods,  been  peculiarly 
distinguished  for  unbounded  but  indiscriminate  hospitality, 
which,  though  naturally  devoted  to  the  necessities  of  a 
friend,  is  never  denied  by  him  even  to  the  distresses  of  an 
enemy.  To  be  in  want  or  misery,  is  the  best  recommenda- 
tion to  his  disinterested  protection  ;  his  food,  his  bed,  his 
raiment  are  equally  the  stranger's  and  his  own  ;  and  the 
deeper  the  distress,  the  more  welcome  is  the  sufferer  to  the 
peasant's  cottage. 

4.  His  attachments  to  his  kindred  are  of  the  strongeet 
nature.  The  social  duties  are  intimately  blended  with  the 
natural  disposition  of  an  Irish  peasant;  though  covered  witk 
rags,  oppressed  with  poverty,  and  perhaps  with  hunger,  tht 
finest  specimens  of  generosity  and  heroism  are  to  be  found 
in  his  unequaled  character. 

.'),  An  enthu.siastic   attarhmc!  e  place  of  their  na- 

tivity is  another  striking  trait  of  the  Irish  character,  which 
neither  time  nor  absence,  prosperity  nor  adversity,  can  ob- 
literate or  diminish.     Wherever  an  Irish  peasant  was  born. 


160  ELOCUTION. 

there  be  wishes  to  die ;  and.  however  successful  in  acquiring 
wealth  or  rank  in  distant  places,  he  returns  with  fond  affec- 
tion to  renew  his  intercourse  with  the  friends  and  eompan 
ions  of  his  youth  and  his  obscurity. 

6.  An  innate  spirit  of  insubordination  to  the  laws  has 
b3en  strongly  charged  upon  the  Irish  peasantry;  but  a 
people  to  whom  the  punishment  of  crimes  appears  rather  as 
i  sacrifice  to  revenge  than  a  measure  of  prevention,  can  never 
have  the  same  deference  to  the  law,  as  those  who  are  in- 
structed in  the  principles  of  justice,  and  taught  to  recognize 
its  equality.  It  has,  however,  been  uniformly  admitted  by 
every  impartial  writer  on  the  affairs  of  Ireland,  that  a  spirit 
of  strict  justice  has  ever  characterized  the  Irish  peasant. 

7.  Convince  him,  by  plain  and  impartial  reasoning,  that 
he  is  wrong;  and  he  withdraws  from  the  judgment-seat,  if 
not  with  cheerfulness,  at  least  with  submission  :  but,  to  make 
him  respect  the  laws,  he  must  be  satisfied  that  they  are  im- 
partial; and,  with  that  conviction  on  his  mind,  the  Irish 
peasant  is  as  perfectly  tractable,  as  the  native  of  any  other 
country  in  the  world. 

8.  An  attachment  to,  and  a  respect  for  females  is  another 
characteristic  of  the  Irish  peasant.  The  wife  partakes  of 
all  her  husband's  vicissitudes ;  she  shares  his  labor  and  his 
miseries,  with  constancy  and  with  affection.  At  all  the 
sports  and  meetings  of  the  Irish  peasantry,  the  womon  are 
always  of  the  company :  they  have  a  great  influence ;  and, 
in  his  smoky  cottage,  the  Irish  peasant,  surrounded  by  his 
family,  seems  to  forget  all  his  privations.  The  natural 
cheerfulness  of  his  disposition  banishes  reflection ;  and  he 
experiences  a  simple  happiness,  which  even  the  highest 
ranks  of  society  might  justly  envy. 

SIR   J.    BABRINGTON. 


DIPACTIC.  lUl 


DIDACTIC. 


XL.— INDUSTRY  AND  ELOQUENCE. 

1  In  the  ancient  republics  of  Greece  and  Rome  oratory 
iFiis  a  necessary  branch  of  a  finished  education.  A  much 
imaller  proportion  of  the  citizens  were  educated  than  among 
us;  but  of  these  a  much  larger  number  became  orators.  No 
man  could  hope  for  distinction  or  influence,  and  yet  slight 
this  art.  The  commanders  of  their  armies  were  orators  as 
well  as  soldiers,  and  ruled  as  well  by  their  rhetorical  as  by 
their  military  skill.  'J'here  was  no  trusting  with  them  as 
with  us,  to  a  natural  facility,  or  the  acquisition  of  an  acci- 
dential  fluency  by  occasional  practice. 

2.  They  served  an  apprenticeship  to  the  art.  They  passed 
through  a  regular  course  of  instruction  in  schools.  They 
submitted  to  long  and  laborious  discipline.  They  exercised 
themselves  frequently,  both  before  equals  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  teachers,  who  criticised,  reproved,  rebuked,  excited 
emulation,  and  left  nothing  undone  which  art  and  persever- 
ance could  accomplish. 

3.  The  greatest  orators  of  anticjuity,  so  far  from  being 
favored  by  natural  tendencies,  except,  indeed,  in  their  high 
intellectual  endowments,  had  to  struggle  against  natural  ob- 
stacles ;  and,  instead  of  growing  up  spontaneously  to  their 
unrivaled  eminence,  they  forced  themselves  forward  by  the 
most  discouraging,  artificial  process. 

4.  Demosthenes  combated  an  impediment  in  speech  and 
an  ungainliness  of  gesture,  which,  at  first,  drove  him  from 
the  forum  in  disgrace.  Cicero  failed,  at  first,  through  weak- 
ness of  lungs  and  an  excessive  vehemence  of  manner,  which 
wearied  the  hearers  and  defeated  his  own  purpose.  These 
defects  were  conquered  by  study  and  discipline.  He  exiled 
himself  from  home,  and,  during  his  absence,  in  various  lands, 
passed  not  a  day  without  a  rhetorical  exercise,  soaking  the 

Kino~14 


IG2  ELOCUTION. 

masters  who  writ-  most  severe  in  tii(i(  i>iii.  as  the  surest 
means  of  leading  him  to  the  perfection  at  which  lie  aimed 

5.  Such,  too.  was  the  education  of  their  other  groat  men. 
They  were  all.  accMudini:  to  their  aljilit y  and  station,  orators; 
orators,  not  by  nature  or  accident.  l»ut  l>y  edu  .ti  n.  1'  rmcd 
in  M  <iyu-t  ur,M-t'«i  of  rhetorical  traininir. 

ice  to  be  Brawn  from  iti  ii.^, 

t^    ;  many  of  those  who  received  an  accomplished 

cdih  came  accomplished  orators,  because  to  become 

60  wa>  uiK'  purpose  of  their  study;  then,  it  is  in  the  power 
of  a  much  larger  proportion  among  us  to  form  ourselves 
into  creditable  and  accurate  speakers.  The  inference  should 
not  be  denied  until  proved  false  by  experiment. 

7.  Let  tliis  art  he  ni'<<h^  -m  object  of  attention  :  let  young 
nun  train  ilieuiM-l\i-  ;thfully  and  long;   au'l  if  any 

of  competent  talents  and  tuierable  science  be  found,  at  last, 
incapable  of  expressing  themselves  in  continued  and  con- 
nected discourse,  so  as  to  aiis\  ;<ls  of  public  spcak- 
inpr.  then,  and  not  till  then.  ]<  i  u  i.-  .-aiil,  that  a  peculiar 
talent,  or  natural  aj»titu'le.  is  re(juisite.  the  want  of  which 
must  render  effort  vain  ;  then,  and  not  till  then,  let  us  ac- 
quiesce in  this  indolent  and  timorous  notion,  which  contra- 
dicts the  whole  testimony  of  antiquity  and  ail  the  experience 
of  the  world.  wirt. 


X  LI  .—AWAKE  TO  EFFORT. 
"  The  night  cometh  when  no  man  can  work.^^ 

1.  Awake  to  effort  while  the  day  is  shining, 

The  time  to  labor  will  not  always  last, 
And  no  regret,  repentance,  nor  repining, 

Can  bring  to  us  again  the  buried  Past. 
The  silent  sands  of  life  are  falling  fast; 

Time  tells  our  busy  pulses,  one  by  one ; 
And  shall  our  work,  so  needful  and  so  vast, 

Be  all  completed,  or  but  just  begun. 
When  twilight  shadows  vail  life's  dim  departing  sun  i 

2.  What  duties  have  our  idle  hands  neglected? 

What  useful  lesson  have  we  learned  and  taught? 
What  warmth,  what  radiance  have  our  minds  reflected  ? 
What  rich  and  rare  materials  have  we  brought 


DIDACTIC.  103 

For  deep  investigation,  earnest  thought? 

Concealed  within  the  soul's  unfsithomed  mine, 
ITow  manj'  a  sparkling  gem  remains  umvrought, 

That  Industry  might  place  on  Learning's  shrine, 
Or  lavish  on  the  world,  to  further  God's  design  I 

3.  The  smallest  bark  on  life's  tumultuous  ocean, 

Will  leave  a.  track  behind  forever  niore ; 
The  lightest  wave  of  influence,  set  in  motion. 

Extends  and  widens  to  the  eternal  shore. 
Wo  should  be  wary,  then,  who  go  before 

A  myriad  yet  to  be,  and  we  should  take 
Our  bearing  carefully,  where  breakers  roar, 

And  fearful  tempests  gather ;   one  mistake 
M'iy  wreck  unnumbered  barks  that  follow  in  our  wake. 

4.  To  effort !   ye  whom  God  has  nobly  gifted 

With  that  prevailing  power,  undying  song; 
For  human  good  let  every  hand  be  lifted. 

For  human  good  let  every  heart  be  strong. 
Is  there  no  crying  sin — no  grievous  wrong 

That  ye  may  help  to  weaken  or  repress? 
In  wayside  hut  and  hovel — 'midst  the  throng, 

Down-trodden  by  privation  and  distress — 
Is  there  no  stricken  heart  that  ye  can  cheer  and  blewT 

5.  Sing  idle  lays  to  idle  harps  no  longer: 

Go  peal  an  anthem  at  the  gate  of  heaven — 
Exertion  makes  the  fainting  spirit  stronger — 

Sing  till  the  bonds  of  Ignorance  are  riven, 
Till  dark  Oppression  from  the  earth  is  driven — 

Sing,  till  from  every  land  and  every  sea, 
One  universal  triumph-song  is  riven, 

To  hail  the  long  expected  jubilee, 
When  every  bond  is  broke,  and  every  vassal  free. 

9.  And  ye,  whose  birthright  is  the  glorious  dower 
Of  Eloquence,  to  thrill  the  immortal  soul  I 
Use  not  unwisely  the  transcendent  power 

To  waken,  guide,  restrain,  direct,  control 
The  heart's  deep  earnest  feelings ;  let  the  goal 

Of  your  ambition  be,  a  name  enshrined 
By  love  and  gratitude  upon  the  scroll. 
Where  generations  yet  unborn  shall  find 
The  deathless  deeds  of  those  who  loved  and  blcs^od  mankind 

MRS.    SA  I.TON. 


h>i  ELOCUTION. 


XLII.— CHEERFULNESS. 


1.  There  is  no  one  quality  that  so  much  attaches  man 
to  his  fellow  man  as  cheerfulness.  Talents  may  excite 
more  respect,  and  virtue  more  esteem  ;  but  the  respect  is 
apt  to  be  distant,  and  the  esteem  cold.  It  is  far  otherwise 
with  cheerfulness.  It  endears  a  man  to  the  heart,  not  the 
intellect  or  the  imagination.  There  is  a  kind  of  reciprocal 
diffusiveness  about  this  quality  that  recommends  its  posses- 
sor by  the  very  effect  it  produces.  There  is  a  mellow  radi- 
ance in  the  light  it  sheds  on  all  social  intercourse,  which 
pervades  the  soul  to  a  depth  that  the  blaze  of  intellect  can 
never  reach. 

2.  The  cheerful  man  is  a  double  blessing — a  blessing  to 
himself  and  to  the  world  around  him.  In  his  own  character, 
his  good  nature  is  the  clear,  blue  sky  of  his  own  heart,  on 
which  every  star  of  talent  shines  out  more  clearly.  To 
others  he  carries  an  atmosphere  of  joy,  and  hope,  and  en- 
couragement, wherever  he  moves.  His  own  cheerfulness 
becomes  infectious,  and  his  associates  lose  their  moroseness 
and  their  gloom  in  the  amber  colored  light  of  the  benevo- 
lence he  casts  around  him. 

3.  It  is  true  that  cheerfulness  is  not  always  happiness. 
The  face  may  glow  in  smiles  while  the  heart  "runs  in  cold- 
ness and  darkness  below,"  but  cheerfulness  is  the  best  ex- 
ternal indication  of  happiness  that  we  have,  and  it  enjoys 
this  advantage  over  almost  every  other  good  quality,  that 
the  counterfeit  is  as  valuable  to  society  as  the  reality.  It 
answers  as  a  medium  of  public  circulation,  fully  as  well  as 
the  true  coin. 

4.  A  man  is  worthy  of  all  praise,  whatever  may  be  his 
private  griefs,  who  does  not  intrude  them  on  the  happiness 
of  his  friends,  but  constantly  contributes  his  quota  of  cheer- 
fulness to  the  general  public  enjoyment.  "  Every  heart 
knows  its  own  bitterness,"  but  let  the  possessor  of  that  heart 
take  heed  that  he  does  not  distill  it  into  his  neighbor's  cup, 
and  thus  poi-on  his  felicity. 

5.  There  is  no  sight  more  commendable  and  more  agree- 
able than  a  man,  whom  we  know  fortune  has  dealt  with 
badly,  smothering   his   peculiar   griefs   in    his   own    bosom. 


DIDACTIC.  165 

&nd  doing  his  duty  in  society  with  an  unruffled  brow  and 
a  cheerful  mien.  It  is  a  duty  which  society  has  a  right  to 
demand — a  portion  of  that  great  chain  which  binds  human- 
ity together,  the  links  of  which  every  one  should  preserve 
bright  and  unsullied. 

6.  It  may  be  asked,  what  shall  that  man  do  whose  bur- 
lens  of  grief  are  heavy,  and  made  still  heavier  by  the  tears 
ke  has  shed  over  them  in  private ;  shall  he  leave  society  ? 
Certainly,  until  he  has  learned  to  bear  his  own  burden. 
Shall  he  not  seek  the  sympathy  of  his  friends?  He  had 
better  not;  sympathy  would  only  weaken  the  masculine 
strength  of  mind  which  enables  us  to  endure.  Besides, 
sympathy  unsought  for  is  much  more  readily  given,  and 
sinks.deeper  in  its  healing  eifects  into  the  heart.  No!  no  I 
cheerfulness  is  a  duty  which  every  man  owes.  Let  him 
faithfully  discharge  the  debt. 


XLIII.— VARIETIES. 
1. — BE   COMPREHENSIVE. 

1.  Talk  to  the  point,  and  stop  when  you  reach  it.  The 
faculty  which  some  possess  of  making  one  idea  cover  a  quire 
of  paper,  is  despicable.  To  fill  a  volume  upon  nothing,  is 
a  credit  to  nobody,  though  Chesterfield  wrote  a  very  clever 
poem  upon  Nothing. 

2.  There  are  men  who  get  one  idea  into  their  heads,  and 
but  one,  and  they  make  the  most  of  it.  You  can  see  it  and 
almost  feel  it  in  their  presence.  On  all  occasions  it  is  pro- 
duced till  it  is  worn  as  thin  as  charity.  They  remind  you 
of  a  twenty-four  pounder  discharging  at  a  humming-bird. 
Vou  hear  a  tremendous  noise,  see  a  volume  of  smoke,  but 
joxx  look  in  vain  for  the  effects.  The  bird  is  scattered  to 
B  turns. 

|{.  Just  so  with  the  idea  uvelopcd  in  a  cloud,  and 

lost  amid  the  rumblings  ot  wuia^  and  flourishes.  Short  let- 
ters, sermons,  speeches,  and  paragraphs,  arc  favorites  with 
us.  Commend  us  to  the  young  man  who  wrote  to  his  father, 
"Dear  sir,  I  am  going  to  get  married;  "  and  also  to  the  old 
gentleman,  who  replied,  '^Dear  son,  go  ahead. 


lt>6  K  LOCUTION. 

4.  Such  arc  tlic  men  for  action.  They  do  more  than  tLej 
lay.  The  half  is  not  told  in  their  cases.  They  are  worth 
their  weight  in  gold  for  every  purpose  of  life,  and  are  men 
every  where  prized. 

2. — THE   MENTAL   FACULTIES. 

1.  The  perceptive  faculties  are  those  by  which  we  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  existence  and  qualities  of  the  ex- 
ternal world. 

2.  Consciousness  is  the  faculty  by  which  we  become  cog- 
nizant of  the  operations  of  our  own  minds. 

3.  Original  suggestion  is  the  faculty  which  gives  rise  to 
original  ideas,  occasioned  by  the  perceptive  faculties  or  con- 
sciousness. 

4.  Abstraction  is  the  faculty  by  which,  from  conceptions 
of  individuals,  we  form  conceptions  of  genera  and  species, 
or,  in  general,  of  classes. 

5.  Memory  is  the  faculty  by  which  we  retain  and  recall 
our  knowledge  of  the  past. 

6.  Reason  is  that  faculty  by  which,  from  the  use  of  the 
knowledge  obtained  by  the  other  f\iculties,  wc  are  enabled 
to  proceed  to  other  and  original  knowledge. 

7.  Imagination  is  that  faculty  by  which,  from  materials 
already  existing  in  the  mind,  we  form  complicated  concep- 
tions or  mental  images,  according  to  our  own  will. 

8.  Taste  is  that  sensibility  by  which  we  recognize  the 
beauties  and  deformities  of  nature  or  art,  deriving  pleasure 
from  the  one  and  suffering  pain  from  the  other. 

PR.  WAYLAND. 
3. — now    TO    PROSPER    IN    BUSINhSS. 

1.  In  the  first  place  make  up  your  mind  to  accomplish 
whatever  you  undertake;  decide  upon  some  particular  em- 
ployment, and  persevere  in  it.  All  difl5culties  are  overcome 
by  diligence  and  assiduity. 

2.  Be  not  afraid  to  work  with  your  own  hands,  and  dili- 
gently, too.  "A  cat  in  gbves  catches  no  mice."  "He  wl»# 
»<^mains  in  the  mill  grinds,  not  he  who  goes  and  comes  " 


DIDACTIC.  1(17 

5.  Attend  to  your  business  ;  never  trust  to  another.  "  A 
pot  that  belongs  to  many,  is  ill-stirred  and  worse  boiled." 

4.  Bo  frugal.  "  That  which  will  not  make  a  pot  will  make 
a  pot  lid."  "Save  the  pence,  and  the  pounds  will  take  care 
of  themselves." 

5.  Be  abstemious.  "Who  dainties  love  shall  beggan 
prove." 

6.  Kise  early.  " 'Ihu  sleeping;  fox  catches  no  poultry." 
"  Plow  deep  while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  will  have  corn 
to  sell  and  keep." 

7.  Treat  every  one  with  respect  and  civility.  "Every 
thing  is  gained,  and  nothing  lost  by  courtesy."  Good  man- 
ners insure  success. 

8.  Never  anticipate  wealth  from  any  other  source  than 
labor ;  especially  never  place  dependence  upon  becoming 
the  possessor  of  an  inheritance. 

9.  "  He  who  waits  for  dead  men's  shoes,  may  have  to  go 
for  a  long  time  barefoot."  "  TTo  who  runs  after  a  shadow 
has  a  wearisome  race. 

10.  Above  all  things  never  despair.  "God  is  where  He 
iras."     He  helps  those  who  truly  trust  in  Him. 


XLIV.— POETICAL   SELECTIONS, 
1. — ADVICE   TO    A    YODNQ    LAWYER. 

1.  Whene'er  you  speak,  remember  every  cause 
Stands  not  on  eloquence,  but  stands  on  laws — 
Pregnant  in  matter,  in  expression  brief, 

Let  every  sentence  stand  with  bold  relief; 
On  trifling  points  nor  time  nor  talents  waste, 
A  sad  offense  to  learning  and  to  taste; 
Nor  deal  with  pompous  phrase,  nor  e'er  suppose 
Poetic  flights  belong  to  reasoning  prose. 

2.  Loose  declamation  may  deceive  the  crowd, 
And  seem  more  striking  as  it  grows  more  loud ; 
But  sober  sense  rejects  it  with  disdain, 

Ah  nought  but  empty  noise,  and  weak  as  vain. 


108  ELOCUTION. 

3.  The  froth  of  words,  the  schoolboy's  vain  parade 
Of  books  and  cases — all  his  stock  in  trade — 

The  pert  conceits,  the  cunning  tricks  and  plaj 
Of  low  attorneys,  strung  in  long  array, 
The  unseemly  jest,  the  petulant  reply, 
That  chatters  on,  and  cares  not  how,  or  why. 
Strictly  avoid — unworthy  tliemes  to  scan, 
They  sink  the  speaker  and  disgrace  the  man, 
Like  the  false  lights,  by  flying  shadows  cast. 
Scarce  seen  when  present  and  forgot  when  past. 

4.  Begin  with  dignity;   expound  with  grace 
Each  ground  of  reasoning  in  its  time  and  place  ; 
Let  order  reign  thrcmghout — each  topic  touch. 
Nor  urge  its  power  too  little,  nor  too  much; 
Give  each  strong  thought  its  most  attractive  view, 
In  diction  clear  and  yet  severely  true, 

And  as  the  arguments  in  splendor  grow. 
Let  esvch  reflect  its  light  on  all  below  ; 
When  to  the  close  arrived,  make  no  delays 
By  petty  flourishes,  or  verbal  plays. 
But  sum  the  whole  in  one  deep  solemn  strain, 
Like  a  strong  current  hastening  to  the  main. 

JUDGE  StQHT. 

2. — LET   US  TRY   TO   BE   HAPPY. 

1.  Let  us  try  to  be  happy!     We  may,  if  we  will, 
Find  some  pleasures  in  life  to  o'er  balance  the  ill ; 
There  was  never  an  evil,  if  well  understood, 

But  what,  rightly  managed,  would  turn  to  a  good. 

If  we  were  but  as  ready  to  look  to  the  light 

As  we  are  to  sit  moping  because  it  is  night, 

We  should  own  it  a  truth,  both  in  word  and  in  deed, 

That  who  tries  to  be  happy  is  sure  to  succeed. 

2.  Let  us  try  to  be  happy !     Some  shades  of  regret 
Are  sure  to  hang  round,  which  we  can  not  forget ; 
There  are  times  when  the  lightest  of  spirits  must  bow, 
And  the  sunniest  face  wear  a  cloud  on  its  brow. 

We  must  never  bid  feelings,  the  purest  and  best, 
Lie  blunted  and  cold  in  our  bosom  at  rest; 
But  the  deeper  our  own  griefs  the  greater  our  need 
To  try  to  be  happy,  lest  other  hearts  bleed. 


DIDACTIC.  169 

3.  0,  try  to  be  happy  I     It  is  not  for  lon-^ 
We  shall  cheer  on  each  other  by  counsel  or  song* 
If  we  make  the  best  use  of  our  time  that  we  may, 
There  is  much  we  can  do  to  enliven  the  way: 
Let  us  only  in  earnestness  each  do  our  best, 
Before  God  and  our  conscience,  and  trust  for  the  rest; 
Still  taking  this  truth,  both  in  word  and  in  deed. 
That  who  tries  to  be  happy  is  sure  to  succeed 


XLV.— VARIETIES. 
1. — PHYSICAL   EDUCATION. 

1.  That  is,  undoubtedly,  the  wisest  and  best  regimen, 
which  takes  the  infant  from  the  cradle,  and  conducts  him 
along  through  childhood  and  youth  up  to  high  maturity,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  strength  to  his  arm,  swiftness  to 
his  feet,  solidity  and  amplitude  to  his  muscles,  symmetry 
to  his  frame,  and  expansion  to  his  vital  energies.  It  is  ob- 
vious that  this  branch  of  education  comprehends  not  only 
food  and  clothing,  but  air,  exercise,  lodging,  early  rising, 
and  whatever  else  is  requisite  to  the  full  development  of  the 
physical  constitution.  The  diet  must  be  simple,  the  apparel 
must  not  be  warm,  nor  the  bed  too  soft. 

2.  Let  parents  beware  of  too  much  restriction  in  the 
management  of  their  darling  boy.  If  they  would  make 
him  hardy,  and  rugged,  and  fearless,  they  must  let  him  go 
abroad  often  in  his  early  boyhood,  and  amuse  himself  by 
the  hour  together,  in  smoothing  and  twirling  the  hoary 
locks  of  winter.  Instead  of  keeping  him  shut  up  all  day 
with  a  stove,  and  graduating  his  sleeping-room  by  Fah- 
renheit, they  must  let  him  face  the  keen  edge  of  a  north 
wind  when  the  mercury  is  below  zero  ;  and,  instead  of  mind- 
ing a  little  shivering  and  complaining  when  he  returns, 
«b?er  up  bis  spirits  and  send  him  out  again.  In  this  way 
tliey  will  teach  him  that  he  was  not  born  to  live  in  the 
nursery,  nor  to  brood  over  the  fire ;  but  to  range  abroad  as 
free  as  the  snow  and  the  air,  and  to  gain  warmth  from  ex- 
ercise. 

KiDD.  — 15 


170  ELOCUTION. 

3.  1  loTe  and  admire  the  youth  who  turns  not  back  from 
the  hoTling  wiiitrv  blast,  nor  withers  under  the  blaze  of 
Bumrae*;  who  r  -nifies  "  mole-hills  into  mountains," 

but  whose  daring  eye,  exulting,  scales  the  eagle's  airy  crag, 
and  who  is  ready  to  undertake  any  thing  that  is  prudent 
and  lawful  within  the  range  of  possiMlity.  Who  would 
think  of  planting  the  mountain-oak  in  a  green-house?  or 
of  rearing  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  in  a  lady's  flowcr-j't  ' 
Who  does  not  know  that  in  order  to  att^iin  their  mighty 
strength  and  majestic  forms,  they  must  freely  enjoy  the  rain 
and  the  .^un.'^liine,  and  must  feel  the  rocking  of  the  tempest? 

2. VI  I      AK    WORDS. 

1.  'I  as  much  coi!  l>etween  the  words  and 
the  thoughts,  as  there  is  between  the  thoughts  and  the 
words ;  the  latter  arc  not  only  the  expression  of  the  former, 
but  they  have  powi  t  upon  the  soul  and  leave  the 
stain  of  corruption  incre. 

2.  A  young  man  who  allows  himself  to  use  profane  and 
vulgar  words,  has  not  only  shown  that  there  is  a  foul  spot 
on  his  mind.  1>ut  Iv  '1  ■  '^orance  of  that  word  he  extends 
tliat  sjMtt  aiul  inil  till  by  indulgence  it  will  soon 
pollute  and  ruin  the  whole  soul. 

o.  He  eareful  of  your  words,  as  well  as  of  your  thoughts. 
If  you  can  control  the  tongue,  that  no  improper  words  be 
pronounced  by  it,  you  will  soon  be  able  to  control  the  mind 
and  save  it  from  corruption.  You  extinguish  the  fire  by 
smotherini:  it,  or  prevent  bad  thoughts  bursting  out  in  lan- 
guage. Never  utter  a  word,  any  where,  which  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  speak  in  tlie  presence  of  the  most  religious  man. 
Try  this  practice  a  little,  and  you  will  soon  have  command 
f  yourself. 

3. PROVERBS. 

Rash  oaths,  kept  or  broken,  often  produce  guilt. 
Use  the  means  and  trust  God  for  the  blessing. 
Zealously  strive  to  do  good  for  the  sake  of  good. 
Always  tell  the  truth;  you  will  find  it  easier  than  lying 
Virtuous  actions,  sooner  or  later,  will  find  their  reward. 


DIDACTIC.  171 

Standing  water  i»  unwholesome — so,  too,  is  a  standing 
debt. 

Zeal  without  judgment  is  an  evil,  though  it  bo  zeal  unto 
good. 

If  folly  were  a  pain  there  would  be  groaning  in  every 
house. 

The  choicest  pleasures  of  life  lie  within  the  range  of 
moderation. 

Tattlers  and  hypocrites  are  twins,  and  the  oflFspring  of  the 
devil. 

Faith  has  a  quiet  breast. 

Speak  not  rather  than  speak  ill. 

Quick  to  forgive,  and  slow  to  anger. 

The  sweetest  pleasures  are  soon  gone. 

Guilt  is  best  discovered  by  its  own  fears. 

Patience  is  the  key  of  content. 


XLVL— THE  PERSONALITY  AND  USES  OF  A  LAUGH. 

1.  I  M'OULD  be  willing  to  choose  my  friend  by  the  (juality 
of  his  laugh,  and  abide  the  issue.  A  glad,  gushing  outflow 
— a  clear,  ringing,  mellow  note  6f  the  soul,  as  surely  indi- 
cates a  genial  and  genuine  nature,  as  the  rainbow  in  the 
dew-drop  heralds  the  morning  sun,  or  the  frail  flower  in  the 
wilderness  betrays  the  zephyr-tossed  seed  of  the  parterre. 

2.  A  laugh  is  one  of  God's  truths.  It  tolerates  no  dis- 
guises. Falsehood  may  train  its  voice  to  flow  in  softest 
cadences — its  lips  to  wreathe  into  smiles  of  surpassing  sweet- 
ness— its  face 


•• to  put  on 

That  look  we  trust  in 


but  its  laugh  will  betray  the  mockery.  Who  has  not  started 
and  shuddered  at  the  hollow  "he-he-he!"  of  some  velvet 
voiced  Mephistophclcs,  whose  sinuous  fascinations,  without 
this  note  of  warning — this  premonitory  rattle — might  have 
bound  the  soul  with  a  strong  spell ! 

3.  Leave  nature  alone.     If  she  is  noble,  her  broadest  ex- 
pression will  soon  tune  itself  down  to  fine  aceordauue  with 


172  ELOCUTION. 

life's  earnestness;  if  she  is  base,  no  silken  interwcavings  car 
keep  out  of  sight  her  ugly  liead  of  discord.  If  we  put  a 
laugh  into  strait-jacket  and  leading-strings,  it  becomes  an 
abortion ;  if  we  attempt  to  refine  it,  we  destroy  its  pure,  mel- 
lifluent ring  ;  if  we  suppress  a  laugh,  it  struggles  and  dies 
on  the  heart,  and  the  place  where  it  lies  is  apt  ever  after  to 
be  weak  and  vulnerable.  No,  laugh  truly,  as  you  would 
ipcak  truly,  and  both  the  inner  and  the  outer  man  will 
rejoice.  A  full,  spontaneous  outburst  opens  all  the  delicate 
valves  of  being,  and  glides,  a  subtle  oil,  through  all  its  com- 
plicated mechanism. 

4.  Laugh  heartily,  if  you  would  keep  the  dew  of  your 
youth.  There  is  no  need  to  lay  our  girlhood  and  boyhood 
so  doggedly  down  upon  the  altar  .of  sacrifice,  as  we  toil  up 
life's  mountain.  Dear,  innocent  children,  lifting  their  dewy 
eyes  and  fair  foreheads  to  the  benedictions  of  angels — prat- 
tling and  gamboling  because  it  is  a  great  joy  to  live,  should 
flit  like  sunbeams  among  the  stern-faced  and  stalwart. 
Young  men  and  maidens  should  walk  with  strong,  elastic 
tread  and  cheerful  voices  among  the  weak  and  uncertain. 
White  hairs  should  be  no  more  the  insignia  of  age,  but  the 
crown  of  ripe  and  perennial  youth. 

5.  Laugh  for  your  beauty.  The  joyous  carry  a  fountain 
of  light  in  their  eyes,  and  round  into  rosy  dimples,  where 
the  echoes  of  gladness  play  at  "hide  and  go  seek."  Your 
"  lean  and  hungry  Cassius  "  is  never  betrayed  into  a  laugh, 
and  his  smile  is  more  cadaverous  than  his  despair. 

G.  Laugh,  if  you  would  live.  He  only  exists,  who  drags 
his  days  after  him  like  a  massive  chain,  asking  sympathy 
with  uplifted  eyebrows  and  weak  utterance,  as  the  beggar 
»sks  alms.  Better  die,  for  your  own  sake  and  the  world's 
take,  tnan  to  pervert  the  uses,  and  graces,  and  dignities 
of  lite. 

7.  Make  your  own  sunshine  and  your  own  music^— keep 
your  heart  operf  to  the  smile  of  the  good  J'ather,  and  brave 
ill  things. 

"  Care  to  our  coffin  adds  a  nail,  no  doubt : 
And  every  laugh  so  merry  draws  one  out." 


DIDACTIC.  178 

XLVIL— DON'T  RUN  IN  DEBT. 

1.  Don't  run  in  debt — never  mind,  never  mind. 

If  your  clothes  are  all  faded  and  torn ; 
Fix  'em  up,  make  them  do,  it  is  better  by  far, 

Than  to  have  the  heart  weary  and  worn. 
Who'll  love  you  the  more  for  the  set  of  your  hat, 

Or  your  ruff,  or  the  tie  of  your  shoe, 
The  style  of  your  vest,  or  your  boots  or  cravat. 

If  they  know  you're  in  debt  for  the  new? 

2.  There's  no  comfort,  I  tell  you,  in  walking  the  street 

In  fine  clothes,  if  you  know  you're  in  debt. 
And  feel  that  perchance  you  some  tradesman  may  meet. 
Who  will  sneer — **  They're  not  paid  for  yet." 

3.  Good  friends,  let  me  beg  of  you  don't  run  in  debt, 

If  the  chairs  and  the  sofa  are  old ; 
They  will  fit  your  backs  better  than  any  new  set. 

Unless  they're  paid  for — with  gold. 
If  the  house  is  too  small,  draw  the  closer  together, 

Keep  it  warm  with  a  hearty  good-will ; 
A  big  one  unpaid  for,  in  all  kinds  of  weather, 

Will  send  to  your  warm  heart  a  chill. 

4.  Don't  run  in  debt — dear  girls,  take  a  hint, 

If  the  fashions  have  changed  since  last  season. 
Old  Nature  is  out  in  the  very  same  tint, 

And  old  Nature  we  think  has  some  reason. 
But  just  say  to  your  friend,  that  you  can  not  afford 

To  spend  time  to  keep  up  with  the  fashion ; 
That  your  purse  is  too  light,  and  your  honor  too  brigbf 

To  be  tarnished  with  such  silly  passion. 

5.  Gents,  don't  run  in  debt — let  your  friends,  if  they  can. 

Have  fine  houses,  and  feathers,  and  flowers, 
But,  unless  they  are  paid  for,  be  more  of  a  man, 

Than  to  envy  their  sunshiny  hours. 
If  you've  money  to  spare,  I  have  nothing  to  say — 

Spend  your  dollars  and  dimes  as  you  please. 
But  mind  you,  the  man  who  his  note  has  to  pay, 

Is  the  man  who  is  never  at  ease. 

6.  Kind  husbands,  don't  run  in  debt  any  more ; 

'T  will  fill  your  wife's  cup  of  sorrow. 
To  know  that  a  neighl>or  may  call  at  your  dour, 
With  a  bill  you  must  settle  to-morrow ; 


174  ELOCUTION. 

0 !   take  my  advice — it  is  good  I   it  is  true ! 

(But,  lest  you  may  some  of  you  doubt  it,) 
I'll  whisper  a  secret,  now  seeing  'tis  you : 

I  have  tried  it,  and  know  all  about  it 

7.  The  chain  of  a  debtor  is  heavy  and  cold, 
Its  links,  all  corrosion  and  rust. 
Gild  it  o'er  as  you  will,  it  is  never  of  gold ; 
Then  spurn  it  aside  with  digust. 

ELIZA   COOK. 

XLVIIL— NO  EXCELLENCE  WITHOUT  LABOR. 

1.  The  education,  moral  and  intclleotual,  of  every  indi- 
vidua],  must  be  chiefly  bis  own  work.  Rely  upon  it  that 
the  ancients  were  right — both  in  morals  and  intellect,  we 
give  their  final  shape  to  our  own  characters,  and  thus  become, 
emphatically,  the  architects  of  our  own  fortunes.  IIow  else 
could  it  happen  that  young  men,  who  have  bad  precisely 
the  same  opportunities,  should  be  continually  presenting  us 
witb  such  different  results,  and  rushing  to  such  opposite 
destinies?  Difference  of  talent  will  not  solve  it,  because 
that  difference  very  often  is  in  favor  of  the  disappointed  can- 
didate. 

2.  You  shall  see,  issuing  from  the  walls  of  the  same  col- 
lege— nay,  sometimes  from  the  bosom  of  the  same  family — 
two  young  men,  of  whom  the  one  shall  be  admitted  to  be 
a  penius  of  high  order,  the  other  scarcely  above  the  point 
of  mediocrity;  yet  you  shall  see  the  genius  sinking  and 
perishing  in  poverty,  obscurity,  and  wretchedness ;  while 
on  the  other  hand  you  shall  observe  the  mediocre  plodding 
nisi  slow,  but  sure  way  up  the  hill  of  life,  gaining  steadfast 
footing  at  every  step,  and  mounting  at  length  to  eminenco 
and  distinction,  an  ornament  to  his  family,  a  blessing  to  ..i- 
country.  Now,  whose  work  is  this?  Manifestly  their  own 
They  are  the  architects  of  their  respective  fortunes. 

3.  The  best  seminary  of  learning  that  can  open  its  por- 
tals to  you,  can  do  no  more  than  afford  you  the  opportu- 
nity of  instruction  :  but  it  must  depend  at  last  on  your- 
selves, whether  you  will  be  instructed  or  not,  or  to  what 
point  you  will  push  your  instruction.     And  of  this  be  as- 


DIDACTIC.  175 

sured,  I  speak  from  observation  a  certain  truth :  there  is  no 
excellence  without  great  labor.  It  is  the  fiat  of  fate  from 
which  no  power  of  genius  can  absolve  you. 

4.  Genius  unexerted  is  like  the  poor  moth  that  flutters 
around  a  candle  till  it  scorches  itself  to  death.  If  genius 
be  desirable  at  all,  it  is  only  of  that  great  and  magnanimous 
kind,  which,  like  the  condor  of  South  America,  pitches  from 
iho  summit  of  Chimborazo  above  the  clouds,  and  sustains 
itself  at  pleasure,  in  that  empyreal  region,  with  an  energy 
rather  invigorated  than  weakened  by  the  efi'ort. 

5.  It  is  this  capacity  for  high  and  long-continued  exer- 
)ion — this  vigorous  power  of  profound  and  searching  inves- 
tigation--this  careering  and  wide-spreading  comprehension 
of  mind,  and  those  long  reaches  of  thought,  that 

" — Pluck  bright  honor  from  tlie  pale-faced  moon, 
Or  diye  into  tho  bottom  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom  line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  drag  up  drown-ed  honor  by  tlie  locks — " 

this  is  the  prowess,  and  these  the  hardy  achievements  which 
are  to  enroll  your  names  among  the  great  men  of  the  earth, 

WIRT. 


XLIX.—WHERE   THERE'S  A  WILL  THERE'S  A  WAT. 

1.  We  have  faith  in  old  proverbs  full  surely, 

For  wisdom  has  traced  what  they  tell, 
And  truth  may  be  drawn  up  as  purely 

From  them,  as  it  may  from  a  "well." 
Let  us  question  the  thinkers  and  doers, 

And  hear  what  they  honestly  say, 
And  you'll  find  they  believe,  like  bold-wooers, 

In  '*  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way." 

2.  The  hills  have  been  high  for  man's  mounting, 

The  woods  have  been  dense  for  his  ax, 
The  stars  have  been  thick  for  his  counting, 

The  sands  have  been  wide  for  his  tracks. 
The  sea  has  been  deep  for  his  diving, 

The  poles  have  been  broad  for  his  sway. 
But  bravely  he's  proved  by  his  striving, 

That  "  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  waj." 


176  ELOCUTION. 

3.  Have  ye  vices  that  ask  a  destroyer, 

Or  passions  that  need  your  control? 
Let  Reason  become  your  employer, 

And  your  body  be  ruled  by  your  soul. 
Fight  on,  though  ye  bleed  at  the  trial, 

Resist  with  all  strength  that  ye  may, 
Ye  may  conquer  Sin's  host  by  denial. 

For  "  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way. 

4.  Have  ye  poverty's  pinching  to  cope  with? 

Does  suffering  weigh  down  your  might? 
Only  call  up  a  spirit  to  hope  with, 

And  dawn  may  come  out  of  the  night. 
Oh  !   much  may  be  done  by  defying 

The  ghost  of  Despair  and  Dismay, 
And  much  may  be  gained  by  relying 

On  *'  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way." 

5.  Should  ye  see  afar  off  that  worth  winning. 

Set  out  on  a  journey  with  trust, 
And  ne'er  heed  though  your  path  at  beginning 

Should  be  among  brambles  and  dust. 
Though  it  is  by  footsteps  ye  do  it, 

And  hardships  may  hinder  and  stay, 
Keep  a  heart  and  be  sure  you  go  through  it, 

For  **  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way." 

ELIZA    COOK. 


L.— VARIETIES. 
1. — A  MAXIM   OP   WASHINGTON. 

1.  "  Labor  to  keep  alive  in  your  breast  that  little  tspark 
of  celestial  fire,  conscience,"  was  one  of  a  series  of  maxima 
which  Washington  framed  or  copied  for  his  own  use  when  a 
boy.  His  rigid  adherence  to  principle,  his  steadfast  dis- 
charge of  duty,  his  utter  abandonment  of  self,  his  unre- 
served devotion  to  whatever  interests  were  committed  to  his 
care,  attest  the  vigilance  with  which  he  obeyed  that  maxim. 
He  kept  alive  that  spark.  He  made  it  shine  before  men. 
He  kindled  it  into  i  flame  that  illumined  his  life.  No  occa- 
•ion  was  so  momentous,  no  circumstance  so  minute,  as  to 


DIDACTIC.  177 

tbsolvo  him  from  following  its  guiding  ray.  The  explana- 
tion in  his  account-book,  in  regard  to  his  wife's  annual  visit 
to  the  camp  during  the  ravolutionary  war,  and  his  passing 
allusion  to  the  ''self-denial"  which  the  exigences  of  his 
country  had  cost  him,  furnish  a  charming  illustration  of  his 
habitual  exactness. 

2  The  fact  that  every  barrel  of  flour,  which  bore  the  brand 
of  •'  George  Washington,  Mount  Vernon,"  was  exempted 
from  the  otherwise  uniform  inspection  in  the  West  India 
ports — that  name  being  regarded  as  an  ample  guarantee  of 
the  quality  and  quantity  of  any  article  to  which  it  was  af- 
fixed— dupplies  a  not  less  striking  proof  that  his  exactness 
was  every  where  understood. 

2. — MIRTH. 

1.  It  is  something  even  to  look  upon  enjoyment,  so  that 
it  be  free  and  wild,  and  in  the  face  of  nature,  though  it  is 
but  the  enjoyment  of  an  idiot.  It  is  something  to  know 
that  heaven  has  left  the  capacity  of  gladness  in  such  a  crea- 
ture's breast;  it  is  something  to  be  assured  that,  however 
lightly  men  may  crush  that  faculty  in  their  fellows,  the 
great  Creator  of  mankind  imparts  it  even  to  his  despised  and 
slighted  work.  Who  would  not  rather  see  a  poor  idiot  happy 
in  the  sunlight,  than  a  wise  man  pining  in  jail? 

2.  Ye  men  of  gloom  and  austerity,  who  paint  the  face  of 
Infinite  Benevolence  with  an  eternal  frown,  read  in  the  ever- 
lasting book,  wide  open  to  your  view,  the  lesson  it  would 
teach.  Its  pictures  are  not  in  the  black  and  somber  hues, 
but  bright  and  glowing  tints;  its  music,  save  when  ye  drown 
it,  is  not  in  sighs  and  groans,  but  in  songs  and  cheerful 
sounds.  Listen  to  the  million  of  voices  in  the  summer  air, 
and  find  one  dismal  as  your  own.  Remember,  if  you  3au 
the  sense  of  hope  and  pleasure  which  every  grand  return  ol 
day  awakens  in  the  breast  of  all  your  kind,  who  have  not 
changed  your  nature,  and  learn  wisdom  even  from  the  wit- 
less, when  their  hearts  are  lifted  up,  they  know  not  why,  hy 
aP  the  mirth  and  happiness  it  brings. 

0BA8.  DICKENS. 


/78  ELOCUTION. 


-ENOAQINO   MANNERS. 


There  are  a  thousand  pretty,  engaging  httle  ways 
which  every  person  may  put  on,  without  the  risk  of  being 
deemed  either  affected  or  foppish.  The  sweet  smile,  the 
quiet  cordial  bow,  the  earnest  movement  in  addressing  a 
friend,  or  more  especially  a  stranger,  whom  one  may  recom- 
mend to  our  good  regards,  the  inquiring  glance,  the  graceful 
attention  which  is  captivating  when  united  with  self-posses- 
sion, these  will  insure  us  the  good  regards  of  even  a  churl. 
Above  all  there  is  a  certain  softness  of  manner  which  should 
be  cultivated,  and  which,  in  either  man  or  woman,  adds  a 
eharm  that  almost  entirely  compensates  for  lack  of  beauty. 
The  voice  may  be  modulated  so  to  intonate,  that  it  will  speak 
directly  to  the  heart,  and  from  that  elicit  an  answer;  and 
politeness  may  be  made  essential  to  our  nature.  Neither  is 
time  thrown  away  in  attending  to  such  things,  insignificant 
ts  they  may  seem  to  those  who  engage  in  weightier  matters. 


Li._GOOD  TEMPER. 


1.  There's  not  a  cheaper  thing  on  earth. 

Nor  yet  one  half  so  dear ; 
'Tis  worth  more  than  distinguished  birth, 
Or  thousands  gained  a  year. 

2.  It  lends  the  day  a  new  delight ; 

'Tis  virtue's  firmest  shield ; 
And  adds  more  beauty  to  the  night 
Than  all  the  stars  may  yield. 

3.  It  maketh  poverty  content. 

To  sorrow  whispers  peace ; 
It  is  a  gift  from  heaven  sent 
For  mortals  to  increase. 

4.  It  meets  you  with  a  smile  at  mom ; 

It  lulls  you  to  repose; 
A  flower  for  peer  and  peasant  bom. 
An  everlasting  rose. 

5.  A  charm  to  banish  grief  away, 

To  free  the  brow  from  care ; 


DIDACTIC.  179 

Turns  toars  to  smiles,  makes  dullness  gay — 
Spreads  gladness  every  where. 

6    And  yet  'tis  cheap  as  summer's  dew, 
That  gems  the  lily's  breast ; 
A  talisman  for  love  as  true 
As  ever  man  possessed. 

7.  As  smiles  the  rainbow  through  the  cloud 

When  threat'ning  storm  begins — 
As  music  'mid  the  tempest  loud, 
That  still  its  sweet  way  wins — 

8.  As  springs  an  arch  across  the  tide, 
•    When  waved  conflicting  foam, 
So  comes  this  seraph  to  our  side, 

This  angel  to  our  home. 

9.  What  may  this  wondering  spirit  be, 

With  power  unheard  before — 

This  charm,  this  bright  divinity? 

Qood  nature — nothing  morel 

10.  Good  temper — 'tis  the  choicest  gifl 
That  woman  homeward  brings. 
And  can  tlie  poorest  peasant  lift 
To  bliss  unknown  to  kings. 


LU.— OPPOSITE  EXAMPLES. 

1.  1  ASK  the  young  man  who  is  just  forming  his  habits  of 
life,  or  just  beginning  to  indulge  thoj^e  habitual  trains  of 
thought  out  of  which  habits  grow,  to  look  around  him  and 
mark  the  examples  whose  fortune  he  would  covet,  or  whose 
fate  he  would  abhor.  Even  as  wo  walk  the  streets,  we  meet 
with  exhibitions  of  each  extreme. 

2.  Here,  behold  a  patriarch,  whose  stock  of  vigor  three- 
score years  and  ten  seem  hardly  to  have  impaired.  His 
erect  form,  his  firm  step,  his  elastic  limbs,  and  undimmcd 
senses,  are  so  many  certificates  of  good  conduct;  or,  rather, 
so  many  jewels  and  orders  of  nobility  with  which  nature 
has  honored  him  for  bis  fidelity  to  her  laws.     His  fair  com- 


180  ELOCUTION. 

plexion  shows  that  his  blood  has  never  been  corrupted ;  hii 
pure  breath,  that  he  has  never  yielded  his  digestive  apparatus 
to  abuse ;  his  exact  language  and  keen  apprehension,  that 
his  brain  has  never  been  drugged  or  stupefied  by  the  poisons 
of  distiller  or  tobacconist. 

3.  Enjoying  his  appetites  to  the  highest,  he  has  preserved  the 
power  of  enjoying  them.  As  he  drains  the  cup  of  lifo,  there 
are  no  lees  at  the  bottom.  His  organs  will  reach  the  goal  of 
existence  together.  Painlessly  as  a  candle  burns  down  in 
its  socket,  so  will  he  expire  ;  and  a  little  imagination  would 
convert  him  into  another  Enoch,  translated  from  earth  to  a 
better  world  without  the  sting  of  death. 

4.  But  look  on  an  opposite  extreme,  where*  an  opposite 
history  is  recorded.  What  wreck  so  shocking  to  behold  as 
the  wreck  of  a  dissolute  man  !  —  the  vigor  of  life  exhausted, 
and  yet  the  first  steps  in  an  honorable  career  not  taken ;  in 
himself  a  lazar-house  of  diseases ;  dead,  but  by  a  heathenish 
custom  of  society,  not  buried  !  Rogues  have  had  the  initial 
letter  of  their  title  burnt  into  the  palms  of  their  hands;  even 
for  murder,  Cain  was  only  branded  on  the  fotehead  ;  but 
over  the  whole  person  of  the  debauchee  or  the  inebriate,  the 
signatures  of  infamy  are  written. 

5.  How  nature  brands  him  with  stigma  and  opprobrium  ! 
How  she  hangs  labels  all  over  him,  to  testify  her  disgust  at 
his  existence,  and  to  admonish  others  to  beware  of  his  ex- 
ample 1  How  she  loosens  all  his  joints,  sends  tremors  along 
his  muscles,  and  bends  forward  his  frame,  as  if  to  bring  him 
upon  all-fours  with  kindred  brutes,  or  to  degrade  him  to  the 
reptile's  crawling  !  How  she  disfigures  his  countenance,  as 
if  intent  upon  obliterating  all  traces  of  her  own  image,  so 
that  she  may  swear  she  never  made  him  !  How  she  pours 
rheum  over  his  eyes,  sends  foul  spirits  to  inhabit  his  orcath. 
and  shrieks,  as  with  a  trumpet,  from  every  pore  of  his  bodj 
"Behold  a  Beast!" 

6.  Such  a  man  may  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  our  cities 
every  day  :  if  rich  enough,  he  may  be  found  in  the  saloons, 
and  at  the  tables  of  the  "Upper  Ten  ;"  but  surely,  to  every 
man  of  purity  and  honor,  to  every  man  whose  wisdom  as 
well  as  whose  heart  is  unblemished,  the  wretch  who  pomea 


DIDACTIC.  LSI 

cropped  and  bleeding  from  the  pillory,  and  redolent  with  its 
appropriate  perfumes,  would  bo  a  guest  or  a  companion  far 
less  offensive  and  disgusting.  Now  let  the  young  man,  re- 
joicing in  his  manly  proportions,  and  in  his  comeliness,  look 
on  this  picture,  and  on  this,  and  then  say,  after  the  likeness 
of  which  model  he  intends  his  own  erect  stature  and  sublime 
iountenance  shall  bo  configured. 

H.  MANN. 


UIL— ADDRESS  TO  THE  INDOLENT. 

1.  Is  NOT  the  field,  with  lively  culture  green, 
A  sight  more  joyous  than  the  dead  morass  ? 
Do  not  the  skies,  with  active  ether  clean. 
And  fanned  by  sprightly  zephyrs,  far  surpass 
The  foul  November  fogs,  and  slumb'rous  mass. 
With  which  sad  nature  vails  her  drooping  face  ? 
Does  not  the  mountain-stream,  as  clear  as  glass, 
Gay  dancing  on,  the  putrid  pool  disgrace?  — 

The  same  in  all  holds  true,  but  chief  in  human  race. 

2.  Ah !  what  avail  the  largest  gifts  of  Heaven, 
When  drooping  health  and  spirits  go  amiss  ? 
How  tasteless  then  whatever  can  be  given  I 
Health  is  the  vital  principle  of  bliss. 

And  exercise  of  health.     In  proof  of  this 
Behold  the  wretch  who  slugs  his  life  away, 
Soon  swallowed  in  disease's  sad  abyss. 
While  ho  whom'toil  has  braced,  or  manly  play, 
Ua8  light  as  air  each  limb,  each  thought  as  clear  as  day. 

3.  0,  who  can  speak  the  vigorous  joy  of  health, — 
Unclogged  the  body,  unobscurcd  the  mind? 

The  morning  rises  gay,  with  pleasing  stealth 
The  temperate  evening  falls  serene  and  kind. 
In  health  the  wiser  brutes  true  gladness  find: 
See!  how  the  younglings  frisk  along  the  meads. 
As  May  comes  on,  and  wakes  the  balmy  wind; 
Rampant  with  life,  their  joy  all  joy  exceeds; 
Yet  what  bat  high-strung  health  this  dancing  plcasance  breeds  T 


182  Ei^OCUTION. 

4.  Theie  are,  I  see,  who  listen  to  my  lay, 
Wlio  wretched,  sigh  for  virtue,  yet  despair. 
''All  may  be  done,''  methinks  I  hear  them  say, 

"  Even  death  despised  by  generous  actions  fair,— 
All,  but  for  those  who  to  these  bowers  repair  1 
Their  every  power  dissolved  in  luxury, 
To  quit  of  torpid  sluggishness  the  lair. 
And  from  the  powerful  arms  of  sloth  get  free — 
Tis  rising  from  the  dead: — Alas!  —  it  can  not  be!" 

5.  Would  you,  then,  learn  to  dissipate  the  band 
Of  these  huge,  threatening  difficulties  dire. 

That  in  the  weak  man's  way  like  lions  stand, 
His  soul  appall,  and  damp  bis  rising  fire? 
llesolve, — resolve  I  and  to  be  men  aspire. 
£xert  that  noblest  privilege, — alone 
llere  to  mankind  indulged:  —  control  cUsiret 
Let  godlike  reason,  from  her  sovereign  throne. 
Speak  the  commanding  word,  Ivfillt — and  it  is  done. 

TuoMsoar. 


LIV.— VARIETIES. 
1. — DO     IT    YOURSELF. 

1.  WuY  ask  the  teacher  or  some  classmate  to  solve  that 
problem?  Do  it  yourself.  You  might  as  well  let  them  eat 
your  dinner  as  "do  your  sums  for  you."  It  is  in  studying 
as  in  eating — he  that  does  it  gets  the  benefit,  and  not  he 
that  sees  it  done. 

2.  Do  not  ask  your  teacher  to  parse  all  the  difficult 
words,  or  assist  you  in  the  performance  of^any  of  your  du- 
ties. Do  it  yourself.  Never  mind,  though  they  look  daik 
as  Egypt.  Do  n't  ask  even  a  hint  from  any  body.  Every 
trial  increases  your  ability,  and  you  will  finally  succeed  by 
dint  of  the  very  wisdom  and  strength  gained  in  this  effort, 
even  though  at  first  the  problem  was  beyond  your  skill.  It 
is  the  study  and  not  the  answer  that  really  rewards  your 
pains. 

3.  Look  at  that  boy  who  has  succeeded  after  six  hours  of 
hard  study,  perhaps.  How  his  eye  is  lit  up  with  a  proud 
joy,  as  he  marches  to  his  class!    He  reads  like  a  conqueror, 


DIDACTIC.  183 

XTkd  well  he  may.  His  poor,  weak  schoolmate,  who  gave  up 
after  the  first  trial,  now  looks  up  to  him  with  something  of 
wonder  as  a  superior. 

4.  There  lies  a  great  gulf  between  those  boys  who  stoo  1 
yesterday  side  by  side.  They  will  never  sland  together  as 
equals  again.  The  boy  that  did  it  for  himself  has  taken  a 
stride  upward,  and,  what  is  better  still,  has  gained  strength 
for  greater  efforts.  The  boy  who  waited  to  see  others  do  it 
has  lost  both  strength  and  courage,  and  is  already  looking 
for  some  excuse  to  give  up  school  and  study  forever. 

^  2. — ELOQUENCE. 

Eloquence  consists  in  feeling  a  truth  yourself,  and  in 
making  those  who  hear  you  feel  it.  Oratory  is  not  vocifera- 
tion ;  it  is  not  stamping  a  hole  in  the  platform,  nor  beating 
all  the  dust  out  of  the  cushion  of  the  pulpit;  nor  tearing 
off  the  skirt  of  your  coat  in  the  violence  of  your  gesticula- 
tions. It  is  not  holding  the  breath  until  the  face  is  purple 
and  the  eyes  bloodshot;  it  is  not  hissing  through  the  teeth 
like  the  fizzle  of  a  squib,  nor  crouching  down,  then  bound' 
ing  upward  like  a  wildcat  springing  on  its  prey ;  nor  rant- 
ing about  from  one  side  of  the  rostrum  to  another  until  the 
skin  is  drenched  in  perspiration,  and  the  body  weakened 
into  helplessness.  You  are  not  eloquent  in  all  this,  unless 
it  be  for  the  grave,  for  it  is  suicidal. 

3. — GOOD  ADVICE. 

Whatever  you  read,  whatever  you  see,  or  hear,  or  do,  at 
the  earliest  opportunity  reduce  it,  be  it  much  or  little,  to  a 
few  simple  ideas,  a  short  sketch,  not  longer  than  an  epitaph, 
that  it  may  be  clearly  impressed  on  the  memory,  without 
being  a  burden  or  taking  too  much  room.  Most  people  rur 
on  the  moment  they  are  set  on  a  subject,  if  they  are  at  all 
personally  interested.  They  plunge  into  circumstances,  lose 
their  heads,  and  fling  masses  of  description,  narrative,  whole 
documents,  dialogues  —  in  a  word,  the  whole  thing  over 
again,  at  their  hearers.  The  great  art  is  to  extract  the 
essence  of  a  story,  and  perfume  "       '  '    a  little  sentiment — 


184  ELOCUTION. 

good  nature,  if  uothing  else.  It  will  take  its  place  in  your 
memory,  be  always  at  hand,  and  be  producible  as  we  I  as 
welcome. 


LV.— A  PSALM  OF  LIFE, 

I    Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers, 
^  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  I 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  Uiings  are  not  what  they  seem. 

2.  Life  is  real  I    Life  is  earnest! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal : 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returncst,'' 
Was  not  written  of  the  soul. 

3.  Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  and  way, 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  further  than  to^ay. 

4.  Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting. 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brare, 
Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

5.  In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  tlie  bivouac  of  life. 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle  1 
Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  1 

6.  Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasanti 

Let  tlie  dead  Past  bury  its  dead! 
Act  I — act  in  the  living  Present  I 
Heart  within,  and  God  o'er  head. 

7.  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time ; 

8.  Footprints,  that  perhaps  another. 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother. 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 


DIDACTIC.  185 

9    Let  us,  then,  be  up  aud  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait 

LONGFELLOir. 


LVI.— VARIETIES. 
1. — EFPEC5T8    OP   TEMPERATURE   ON   MAN. 

1.  Owing  mainly  to  the  flexibility  of  his  constitution, 
although  obtaining  much  artificial  aid,  man  can  subsist 
uiider^the  greatest  climatic  extremes.  The  Esquimaux  en- 
dure the  cold  between  the  parallels  of  seventy  and  eighty 
degrees;  the  African  Negroes  subsist  under  the  burning  sun 
of  the  Equator ;  while  Europeans,  accustomed  to  an  inter- 
mediate temperature,  have  borne  the  rigor  of  the  highest 
accessible  latitude,  and  the  fiercest  heat  of  the  Torrid  Zone. 

2.  The  power  of  the  human  frame  to  resist  cold,  accord- 
ing to  Sir  John  Ross,  who  experienced  four  successive  Arc- 
tic winters,  appears  to  vary  remarkably  in  different  consti- 
tutions. His  general  conclusion  is,  that  the  ruddy,  elastic, 
florid,  or  clear-complexioned  man,  endowed  with  what  physi- 
cians call  the  sanguine  temperament,  has  a  peculiar  power 
of  retaining  heat;  while  those  having  pale,  flabby,  sallow 
countenances,  whose  temperament  is  said  to  be  phlegmatic 
or  melancholic,  are  proportionately  deficient. 

3.  The  most  ample  clothing  will  not  compensate  for  the 
deficiency,  since  it  can  only  retain  the  internal  heat ;  and  if 
this  be  wanting  one  might  as  well  attempt  to  "  warm  a  piece 
of  ice  by  means  of  a  blanket."  He  places  his  chief  reliance 
on  abundance  of  food;  and  it  is  well  known  that  an  Esqui- 
maux takes  as  much  as  ten  or  tweh'e  pounds  weight  of  ani- 
mal food  in  twenty-four  hours,  itsefiect  being  heightened  by 
the  fat  and  oleaginous  quality  of  the  diet. 

4.  The  oxygen  which  is  inhaled  with  atmospheric  air 
combines  chemically  with  the  carbon  of  the  food,  and  thai 
chemical  action  is  the  cause  o2  heat  and  vital  force.  There- 
fore a  much  larger  supply  of  animal  food,  which  contains 
many    times    more    carbon    than    vegetables,    is   necessary 

KtDD.— 16 


186  ELOCUTION 

in  a  cold  climate;  while,  amid  torrid  heat,  rice  and  frait 
form  a  more  approprijito  flict. 

2.-:-0PP0SITI0N. 

*•  A  CERTAIN  amount  of  opposition,"  says  John  Neal,  **i8 
a  great  help  to  a  man."  Kites  rise  against  and  not  with  the 
wind.  Even  a  head-wind  is  better  than  none.  No  man 
ever  worked  his  passage  any  where  in  a  dead  calm.  Let  no 
man  wax  pale,  therefore,  because  of  opposition.  Opposition 
is  what  he  wants,  and  must  have,  to  be  good  for  any  thing. 
Hardship  is  tho.  native  soil  of  manhood  and  self-reliance. 

3. — A   GOOD   CHARACTER. 

A  GOOD  character  in  a  young  man  is  what  a  firm  founda 
tion  is  to  the  architect,  who  proposes  to  erect  a  building — on 
it  he  can  build  with  safety  ;  but  let  a  single  part  of  this  be 
defective,  and  he  goes  on  a  hazard,  amid  doubting  and  dis- 
trust, and  ten  to  one  the  edifice  he  erects  on  it  will  tumble 
down  at  last,  and  mingle  all  that  was  built  on  it  in  ruin. 
Without  a  good  character  poverty  is  a  curse  —  with  it,  it  is 
scarcely  an  evil.  All  that  is  bright  in  the  hope  of  youth,  all 
that  is  calm  and  blissful  in  the  sober  scenes  of  life,  all  that 
is  soothing  in  the  vale  of  years,  centers  in,  and  is  derived 
from,  a  good  character. 


LVII.— WHAT  LL  THEY  THINK. 

1.  Who  cares  what  they  '11  think,  or  what  they  '11  say, 
concerning  ourselves,  so  long  as  we  have  the  approval  of  our 
own  reason  and  conscience  ?  What  they  '11  think  and  what 
they  '11  say,  are  to  us  as  idle  scarecrows,  dead  carcasses  of 
conventionality,  which  we  hold  in  abhorrence  and  contempt. 

2.  And  yet,  how  many  waste  their  lives,  and  fritter 
away  their  man  and  womanhood  in  the  everlasting  query, 
"  What  '11  they  think  ? "  They  are  serfs  to  the  world 
around  them — bond-slaves  to  the  whims  and  caprices  of 
others.  "What '11  they  think?"  arranges  all  their  house- 
hold,   fashions    their    drawing-rooms,    their    feasts,    their 


DIDACTIC.  ^  1^7 

equipage,  their  garments,  their  amusements,  their  sociality, 
their  religion,  their  every  thing  I     Poor,  hampered  souls  ! 

3.  Society  abounds  in  such.  Men  are  often  enough  of 
the  lot,  but  women  oftener.  If  one  hoops,  all  must  hoop ; 
if  one  flounces,  all  must  flounce.  No  matter  whether  it  is 
convenient  or  prudent,  they  must  follow  the  lead.  "What '11 
they  think?"  if  one  dares  to  stand  alone,  is  their  withering 
Tear  and  torment. 

4.  They  have  lost  all  desire  to  be  independent.  It  is  how 
will  the  Priggses  look  at  it,  that  determines  them.  They 
must  do  just  as  the  Priggses  do.  Out  upon  the  Priggses 
and  all  their  retinue  !  They  are  emasculating  society,  con- 
fusing weak  men's  ideas,  and  making  weak  women's  minds 
weaker.  Let  us  have  done  with,  "  What  '11  they  think  ?  " 
and  bury  it  with  the  corpses  of  the  bowing,  scraping,  cring- 
ing, and  fawning  of  feudal  days  and  universal  slave  ages. 


LVm.— PADDLE  YOUR  OWN  CANOE, 

1.  Voyager  upon  life's  sea. 

To  yourself  bo  true ; 
And  where'er  your  lot  may  be, 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 
Never,  though  the  winds  may  rave, 

Falter  nor. look  back, 
But  upon  the  darkest  wave 

Leave  a  shining  track. 

2.  Nobly  dare  the  wildest  storm, 

Stem  the  hardest  gale, 
Brave  of  heart  and  strong  of  arm, 

You  will  never  fail. 
When  the  world  is  cold  and  dark. 

Keep  an  end  in  view, 
And  toward  the  beacon  mark. 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 

1.  Every  wave  that  bears  you  on 
To  the  silent  shore, 
From  its  sunny  source  has  gone 
To  return  no  more: 


19S  -  ELOCUTION. 

Then  let  not  an  hour's  delay 

Cheat  you  of  your  due ; 
But  while  it  is  called  to-day, 

}>.,!,ii,.  y.>\iT  own  canoe. 

4    If  ^>  Mw   ,j,rAi  Jellied  you  wealth. 

Lofty  state  and  power, 
Honest  fame  and  hardy  health 

Are  a  better  dower ; 
But  if  these  will  not  suffice, 

Golden  gain  pursue, 
And  to  win  the  glittering  prize, 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 

5.  Would  you  wrest  the  wreath  of  fame 

From  the  hand  of  Fate ; 
Would  you  write  a  deathless  name, 

With  the  good  and  great; 
Would  you  bless  your  fellow  men? 

Heart  and  soul  imbue 
With  the  holy  task,  and  then 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 

6.  Would  you  crush  the  tyrant  Wron|^ 

In  the  world's  fierce  fight? 
With  a  spirit  brave  and  strong, 

Battle  for  the  Right; 
And  to  break  the  chains  that  bind 

The  many  to  the  few — 
To  enfranchise  slavish  mind. 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 

7.  Nothing  great  is  lightly  won, 

Nothing  won  is  lost — 
Every  good  deed  nobly  done. 

Will  repay  the  cost: 
Leave  to  Heaven,  in  humble  trust, 

All  you  will  to  do ; 
But  if  you  succeed,  you  must 

Paddle  your  own  canoe. 

MRS.    SARAH    T.    BOLTOK. 


DIDACTIC.  189 

UX.— VARIETIES. 
1. — PURE  AIR. 

1.  Nothing  is  more  detrimental  to  health  than  foul  air. 
The  air  drawn  into  the  lungs  is  the  great  purifier  of  the 
blood  ;  from  the  blood  every  part  and  fiber  of  the  body 
receive  growth  and  nourishment ;  and  if  this  be  allowed  to 
carry  impurities  through  the  system,  health  will  be  speedily 
destroyed.  Either  immediate  death,  or  eventual  disease, 
will  unavoidably  ensue.  As  you  are  going  to  rest  at  night, 
suspend  a  bird  at  the  top  of  your  curtained  bedstead,  on 
the  irtside,  and  you  will  find  it  lifeless  in  the  morning. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  domesticated  birds  are  so  fre 
quently  short-lived  and  sickly.  They  need  to  inhale  the 
free  air  from  the  lakes  and  mountains. 

2.  Washington  Irving  remarks,  that,  on  his  endeavoring 
to  sleep  in  a  close  room,  after  his  famous  wild-wood  ram- 
bles in  the  west,  he  found  the  air  so  oppressive  as  almost 
to  banish  sleep  from  his  eyelids.  Dr.  Franklin  states,  that 
he  seldom  or  never  slept  in  a  room,  at  home  or  abroad, 
either  in  summer  or  in  winter,  without  having  raised  in  his 
apartment  one  or  more  of  the  windows.  Let  parents,  teach- 
ers, and  invalids  be  sure  to  furnish  for  themselves,  and  for 
those  under  their  guardianship,  the  purest  air  that  circulates 
about  them.  Many  a  cheek  will  look  fairer,  and  many  a 
heart  will  beat  fuller  and  freer,  if  all  will  attend  to  this 
salutary  oaution. 

2. — THINKING. 

Man  may  see  and  hear,  and  read  and  learn,  whatever  he 
pleases,  and  as  much  as  he  pleases — he  will  never  know  any 
thing,  except  that  which  he  has  thought  over;  that  which, 
by  thinking,  he  has  made  the  property  of  his  mind.  Man, 
by  thinking  only,  becomes  truly  man.  Take  away  thought 
from  man's  life,  and  what  remains  ? 

3. — FRETTING. 

1.  "  Fret  not  thyself,"  says  the  Psalmist.  Mankind  have 
B  great  proneness  to  fret.     Their  business  does  not  prosper ; 


190  ELOCUTION. 

customers  do  not  pay  promptly;  competition  is  sharp;  friends 
prove  treacherous;  malice  and  envy  hurl  their  shafts;  domes- 
tic affairs  go  contrariwise ;  the  wicked  seem  to  prosper, 
while  the  righteous  arc  abased.  In  every  lot  there  is  ample 
material  of  which  to  make  a  goad,  that  may  pierce  and 
rankle  in  our  souls,  if  we  are  only  so  disposed.  Disease  i.s 
ocictimes  acute  —  coming  on  suddenly  in  the  midst  of 
health,  raging  violently  through  the  system,  causing  fever 
and  racking  pains.  So  with  fretting.  At  times  it  overtakes 
the  constitutionally  patient  and  gentle.  Strong  provocatii  os 
assail  them  unawares,  throw  them  off  their  guard,  and  cause 
in  overflow  of  spleen. 

2.  Diseases,  however,  often  assume  the  chronic  type,  he- 
coming  imbedded  in  the  system,  deranging  its  organs,  inter- 
fering with  the  performance  of  the  natural  and  healthful 
functions,  and  lingering,  year  after  year,  like  a  vampire,  to 
extract  the  vital  juices.  In  like  manner  fretting  becomes 
chronic.  Peevishness,  irritability,  censoriousness,  and  com- 
plaining, indulged  in,  assume  a  habit.  It  argues  a  sadly 
diseased  condition  of  the  soul,  when  this  distemper  of  fret- 
fulness  becomes  one  of  its  fixtures.  To  such  an  one  evory 
thing  goes  wrong.  The  whole  mechanism  of  society  is 
thrown  out  of  gear ;  and  instead  of  moving  smoothly,  as 
when  lubricated  by  the  oil  of  kindness  and  charity,  its  co^tt 
slash,  and  its  pivots  all  grate  harshly. 


LX.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 
1. — FAITH    AND    DUTY. 

1.  Something  ever  doth  impress  us 

With  a  sense  of  right  or  wrong ; 
Something  waiteth  still  to  bless  us, 

As  we  journey  life  along; 
Something  viewless  whispers  to  us 

Words  of  hope  and  promise  sure ; 
Voices  speak  prophetic  through  us, 

Of  a  life  that  shall  endure  I 

2»  There's  a  silent,  voiceless  teacher, 
Striving  with  the  human  will ; 


DIDACTIC.  191 

Unto  each  weak,  earth-born  creature 

Wisdom's  letters  doth  instill : 
Heed  them,  better  grow  and  wiser 

They  will  soften  life's  hot  fray ; 
Duty  make  your  stern  adviser, 

Aim  to  reach  the  perfect  day. 

1  Trust  the  high  hopes  that  impel  us, 

And  inspire  our  firm  belief — 
They  alone  can  well  fortell  us, 

Human  works  how  frail  and  brief: 
Trust  the  God  that  reigns  above  us. 

Faithful  to  his  precepts  be, 
He  will  guide,  and  guard,  and  love  us, 

Through  a  blest  eternity. 

4.  Heed  the  heavenly  aspirations 

That  imbue  with  hope  the  soul ; 
Mark  the  glorious  life-creations 

Flowing  in  without  control: 
See  in  all  things  truth  and  beauty, 

Love  o'erflowing  from  the  skies; 
Exercising  Faith  and  Duty, 

Earth  would  be  a  paradise.  neal  oernabU 

2. — MORAL   COURAGE. 

Dare  nobly  then ;    but,  conscious  of  your  trust, 
As  ever  warm  and  bold,  be  ever  just ; 
Nor  court  applause  in  these  degenerate  days — 
The  villain's  censure  is  extorted  praise. 

But  chief,  be  steady  in  a  noble  end, 
And  show  mankind  that  truth  has  yet  a  friend. 
'Tis  mean  for  empty  praise  of  wit  to  write, 
^8  foplings  grin  to  show  their  teeth  are  white; 
To  brand  a  doubtful  folly  with  a  smile. 
Or  madly  blaze  unknown  defects,  is' vile: 
'Tig  doubly  vile,  when,  but  to  prove  your  art, 
Tou  fix  an  arrow  in  a  blameless  heart.  p<Pit 

3. — WORK. 

Work  with  your  hands,  work  with  your  mind. 
Just  as  your  nature  has  fitly  designed  ; 
Build  ye  a  temple,  hew  out  a  stone. 
Do  ye  a  work,  just  to  call  it  your  own. 


19*i  ELOCUTION. 

^^  I  le  oat  a  thought — to  lighten  the  labor 

Of  that  one  who  reads,  it  may  be  your  neighbor. 

Work,  as  each  duy  haptens  away, 

Bearing  along  tlic  bright  and  the  gay ; 

Live  out  a  life  of  excellent  worth, 

Having  bestowed  on  the  source  of  your  birth 

Qariandfl  in  works,  to  brigliten  the  earth! 

IIKNKV     TKiiVKRIi. 


LXi.    \-.\Kii;iii:>-. 

1. — RULES    FOR   CONVERSATION. 

1.  That  conversation  may  answer  the  ends  for  whicli  it 
is  designed,  the  parties  wIk'  "*-'^  *->  join  in  it  mutit  couic 
together  with  a  determine  io/i  to  please  and  be 
pleased.  As  the  end  of  the  conversation  is  either  to  amuse 
or  instruct  the  coinnaiiy,  or  to  receive  benefit  from  it,  you 
should  not  be  intenupi  ntlicis.  or  uneasy  at  being 
yourself  iutcrriM  !■  m. 

2.  (Jive  every  uiie  leave  .^  in  liis  turn,  hear  with 
patience,  and  answer  with  precision.  Inattention  is  ill  man- 
ners, and  shows  contempt,  and  contempt  is  never  forgotten. 

3.  Trouble  not  the  company  with  your  own  private  con 
jerns.  Yours  are  as  little  to  them  as  theirs  are  to  you. 
Contrive,  but  with  dexterity  and  propriety,  that  each  per- 
son shall  have  an  opportunity  of  discoursing  on  the  subject 
with  which  he  is  best  acquainted ;  thus,  he  will  be  pleased, 
and  you  will  be  informed.  When  the  conversation  is  flow- 
ing i^  a  serious  and  useful  channel,  never  disturb  it  by  an 
ill-timed  jest. 

4.  In  remarks  on  absent  people,  say  nothing  that  you 
would  not  say  if  they  were  present.  "  I  resolve,"  says 
Bishop  Beveridge,  *'  never  to  speak  of  a  man's  virtues  be- 
fore his  face,  nor  of  his  faults  behind  his  back."  This  is  a 
golden  rule,  the  observance  of  which  would,  at  one  stroke, 
banish  flattery  and  defamation  from  the  earth. 

2. GOOD    SENSE. 

1.  Good  sense  will  preserve  us  from  censoriousness,  will 
lead  us  to  distinguish  circumstances,  keep  us  from  looking 


DIDACTIC.  198 

tfter  visionary  perfection,  and  make  us  see  things  in  their 
proper  light.     It  will  lead  us  to  study  dispositions,  pecu 
liaritics,  accommodations;  to  weigh  consequences ;  to  deter- 
mine what  to  observe,  and  what  to  pass  by;  when  to  be 
immovable,  and  when  to  yield. 

2.  Good  sense  will  produce  good  manners,  keep  us  from 
'jiking  freedoms,  and  handling  things  roughly  ;  will  never 
agitate  claims  of  superiority,  but  teach  us  to  submit  our- 
selves one  to  another.  Good  sense  will  lead  persons  to 
regard  their  own  duties,  rather  than  to  recommend  those 
of  others. 


LXII.— LITERARY  PURSUITS  AND  ACTIVE  BUSINESS. 

1.  Heed  not  the  idle  assertion  that  literary  pursuits  will 
disqualify  you  for  the  active  business  of  life.  Point  out  to 
those  who  make  it,  the  illustrious  characters  who  have  reaped, 
in  every  age,  the  highest  honors  of  studious  and  active  exer- 
tion. Show  them  Demosthenes,  forging,  by  the  light  of  the 
midnight  lamp,  those  thunderbolts  of  eloquence,  which 

"  Shook  the  arsenal,  fulmincd  over  Greece, 
To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne." 

2.  Ask  them  if  Cicero  would  have  been  hailed  with  rap- 
ture as  the  father  of  his  country,  if  he  had  not  been  its 
pride  and  pattern  in  philosophy  and  letters.  Inquire  whe 
ther  Caesar,  or  Frederick,  or  Bonaparte,  or  Wellington,  or 
Washington,  fought  the  worse  because  they  knew  how  to 
write  their  own  commentaries.  Remind  them  of  Franklin, 
tearing  at  the  same  time  the  lightning  from  heaven  and  the 
scepter  from  the  hands  of  the  oppressors. 

3.  Do  they  say  to  you  that  study  will  lead  you  to  skcpti* 
eism?  Recall  to  their  memory  the  venerable  names  of  Ba 
con,  Milton,  Newton,  and  Locke.  Would  they  persuade  you 
that  devotion  to  learning  will  withdraw  your  steps  from  the 
paths  of  pleasure?  Tell  them  they  are  mistaken.  Tell  them 
that  the  only  true  pleasures  are  those  which  result  from  the 
diligent  exorcise  of  all  the  faculties  of  body,  and  mind,  and 
heart,  in  pursuit  of  noble  ends  by  noble  means. 

KiDD.— 17 


194  EL0CUT1U17. 

4.  Ecpeat  to  tlicia  the  ancient  apologue  of  the  youthful 
Hercules,  in  the  pride  of  strength  and  beauty,  giving  up  hia 
generous  soul  to  the  worship  of  virtue.  Tell  them  your 
choice  is  also  made.  Tell  them,  with  the  illustrious  Roman 
orator,  you  would  rather  be  in  the  wrong  with  Plato,  than 
in  the  right  with  Epicurus.  Tell  them  that  a  mother  in 
Sparta  would  have  rather  seen  her  son  brought  home  from 
battle  a  corpse  upon  his  shield,  than  dishonored  by  its  loss. 
Tell  them  that  your  mother  is  America,  your  battle  the  war- 
faro  of  lips,  your  shield  the  breastplate  of  Religion. 

A.    H.    EVERETT. 


LXin.— OPPORTUNITY   FOR  EFFORT. 

1.  Examples  of  greatness  and  goodness  before  us,  bid  us 
work,  and  the  changing  present  oflfers  ample  opportunity. 
Around  us,  every  where,  the  new  crowds  aside  the  old.  Im- 
provement steps  by  seeming  perfection.  Discovery  upsets 
theories  and  clouds  over  established  systems.  The  usages 
of  one  generation  become  matters  of  tradition,  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  next.  Innovation  rises  on  the  site  of  homes 
reverenced  for  early  associations.  Science  can  scarcely  keep 
pace  with  the  names  of  publications  qualifying  or  abrogat- 
ing the  past.  Machinery  becomes  old  iron,  as  its  upstart 
successor  usurps  its  place. 

2.  The  new  ship  dashes  scornfully  by  the  naval  prodigy 
of  last  year,  and  the  steamer  laughs  at  them  both.  The 
railroad  engine,  as  it  rushes  by  the  crumbling  banks  of 
the  canal,  screams  out  its  mockery  at  the  barge  rotting 
piecemeal.  The  astronomer  builds  up  his  hypothesis,  and 
is  comforting  himself  among  the  nebulae,  when  invention 
comes  to  the  rescue  ;  the  gigantic  telescope  points  upward, 
tnd  lo  I  the  raw  material  of  which  worlds  are  manufactured 
becomes  the  centers  of  systems,  blazing  in  the  infinite 
heavens,  and  the  defeated  theorizer  retreats  into  space,  with 
his  speculations,  to  be  again  routed,  when  human  ingenuity 
shall  admit  us  one  hair-breadth  further  into  creation. 

3.  There  is  no  effort  of  science  or  art  that  may  not  be 
exceeded  ;   no  depth  of  philosophy  that  can   not  be  deeper 


DIDACTIC.  195 

sounded  ;  no  flight  of  imagination  that  may  not  be  passed 
by  strong  and  soaring  wing.  All  nature  is  full  of  unknown 
things — earth,  air,  water,  the  fathomless  ocean,  the  limitless 
sky,  lie  almost  untouched  before  us.  What  has  hitherto 
given  prosperity  and  distinction,  has  not  been  more  open 
to  others  than  to  us ;  to  no  one,  past  or  present,  more  than 
to  the  student  going  forth  from  the  school-room  to-morrow. 
4.  Let  not,  then,  the  young  man  sit  with  folded  handS; 
calling  on  Hercules.  Thine  own  arm  is  the  demigod.  It 
was  given  thee  to  help  thyself.  Go  forth  into  the  world 
trustful,  but  fearless.  Exalt  thine  adopted  calling  or  pro- 
fession. Lobk  on  labor  as  honorable,  and  dignify  the  task 
before  thee,  whether  it  be  in  the  study,  office,  counting-room, 
workshop,  or  furrowed  field.  There  is  an  equality  in  all, 
and  the  resolute  will  and  pure  heart  may  ennoble  either. 

GEO.    R.    RUSSELL. 


T.XIV.— SUPPOSE. 

1.  "Now  WHAT  did  you  do  that  for?  Suppose  he  should 
buy  rum  with  it?" 

2.  To  this  querulous  exclamation,  the  beautiful  woman, 
who  bad. just  given  a  bit  of  silver  to  a  poor  beggar,  replied, 
"if  we  are  to  suppose  anything,  why  not  suppose  good?" 

3.  Noble  answer!  Why  suppose  because  your  neighbor 
has  a  row  of  fine  houses,  and  you  have  remained  poor,  though 
starting  in  life  with  him,  that  he  has  obtained  his  wealth  bj 
fraud  and  evil  doing?  if  you  arc  going  to  suppose  at  all,  whj 
not  suppose  good  ?  Why  not  suppose  that  he  had  mere  ma- 
ture judgment,  a  happier  faculty  of  turnin^r  knowlcdp;c  tr, 
account — why  not  suppose  good? 

4.  Why  suppose,  because  a  girl,  in  the  exuberance  wf 
youth  and  animal  spirits,  gives  way  to  childish  impulses  of 
mirth,  that  she  is  bold,  forward  and  presuming;  that  she  ift 
in  danger  of  losing  delicacy  and  reputation  ? 

5.  It  is  dastardly  to  suppose  evil ;  what  docs  the  word 
mean?  ''suspicion  without  proof;  to  lay  down  or  state  as  a 
proposition  or  fact  that  may  exist  or  be  true,  though  not 
>cnown  to  be  true  or  exist." 


196  ELOCUTION. 

r>.  HoW  more  than  insufferably  mean  it  is  then,  in  suppos 
ing  wrong  motives  to  regulate  the  conduct  of  those  around 
us,  and  yet  how  prone  to  the  sin  is  the  majority  of  man- 
kind t  MRS.   DENISON. 


LXV.— THE  SPIDER  AND  THE  I  LV. 

1.  A  SPIDER,  that  began  to  feel 
Those  cravings  for  a  dainty  meal. 
Which  always  urge  the  spider  brood 
To  deeds  of  perfidy  and  blood, 

Vowed  that  he  would  commence  his  labors, 
And  cheat  and  grind  his  simple  neighbors. 
So,  sallying  forth,  prepared  to  weave 
A  web,  well  fashioned  to  deceive, 
With  wondrous  skill,  he  soon  completed 
His  silken  snare,  and  then  retreated. 

2.  Ere  long,  a  little  thoughtless  fly, 
Devoid  of  guile,  came  buzzing  by ; 
And,  curious  to  behold  a  work 

In  which  no  danger  seemed  to  lurk. 
It  touched  the  treacherous  web,  and  found 
Its  limbs  in  toils,  its  pinions  bound; 
The  spider,  warned  of  what  had  passed, 
Came  from  his  nook,  and  nimbly  cast 
One  thread  around  his  dupe,  and  then 
With  haste  retreated  to  his  den. 
Well  pleased,  exulting  at  the  thought 
Of  the  vile  deed  his  scheme  had  wrought. 

3.  Again,  and  yet  again,  intent 
Upon  his  prey,  he  came  and  went, 
Each  time  remembering  to  throw  o'er 
His  helpless  victim  one  thread  more; 
Until,  at  last,  when,  tightly  chained, 

He  showed  that  nought  of  strength  remained, 
The  hapless  captive,  overpowered. 
Was  by  his  ruffian  foe  devoured. 

4.  Hence  warned,  both  old  and  young  may  learn 
The  path  of  safety  to  discern ; 

That  none  but  those  who  stand  aloof 
From  haunts  where  Satan  weaves  his  woof. 


DIDACTIC.  19' 

And  view  intemperance  as  the  breath 
Of  pestilence,  disease,  and  death, 
Are  truly  safe. 

5.  Oh,  then,  beware; 

Resist  the  tempter;   flee  the  snare- 
Remember  that,  with  every  glass 
The  tippler  takes,  a  web  will  pass 
Around  his  soul,  until,  at  length. 
Robbed  of  his  wits,  deprived  of  strength, 
Ue'U  sink,  the  scorn  of  every  tongue, 

"Unwept,  unhonored  and  unsung." 
/ 

6.  When  will  mankind  together  band, 
To  drive  intemperance  from  the  land  ? 
IIow  long  shall  "  brother  war  with  brother," 
And  injure  and  destroy  each  other. 
Contemn  the  law,  all  right  defy. 

And  play  the  spider  and  the  fly? 


LXVI.  -PARALLEL  BETWEEN  POPE  AND  DRYDEN. 

1.  In  acquired  knowledge,  the  superiority  must  be  allowed 
to  Drydcn,  whose  education  was  more  scholastic,  and  who, 
before  he  became  an  author,  had  been  allowed  more  time  for 
study,  with  better  means  of  information.  His  mind  has  a 
larger  range,  and  he  collects  his  images  and  illustrations 
from  a  more  extensive  circumference  of  science.  Dryden 
knew  more  of  man  in  his  general  nature,  and  Pope  in  his 
local  manners.  The  notions  of  Dryden  were  formed  by 
comprehensive  speculation  ;  those  of  Pope  by  minute  atten- 
tion. There  is  more  dignity  in  the  knowledge  of  Dryden 
and  more  certainty  in  that  of  Pope. 

2.  Poetry  was  not  the  sole  praise  of  either  ;  for  boil 
excelled  likewise  in  prose :  but  Pope  did  not  borrow  hii 
prose  from  his  predecessor.  The  style  of  Dryden  is  capri- 
cious and  varied ;  that  of  Pope  is  cautious  and  uniform 
Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of  his  own  mind ;  Pope  con- 
strains his  mind  to  hi.s  own  rules  of  composition.  Dryden 
is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid  ;  Pope  is  always  smooth, 
aniform,  and  gentle.    Drydcn*s  page  is  a  natural  field,  rising 


i98  ELOCDTION. 

into  inequalities,  and  diversified  by  the  varied  exuberance  of 
abundant  vegetation ;  Pope's  is  a  velvet  lawn,  shaven  by  the 
scythe,  and  leveled  by  the  roller. 

3.  Of  genius — that  power  which  constitutes  a  poet,  that 
quality  without  which  judgment  is  cold,  and  knowledge  is 
inert,  that  energy  which  collects,  combines,  amplifies,  and 
animates  —  the  superiority  must,  with  some  hesitation,  be 
allowed  to  Dryden.  It  is  not  to  bo  inferred,  that  of  thia 
poetical  vigor  Pope  had  only  a  little,  because  Dryden  had 
more :  for  every  other  writer  since  Milton  must  give  place 
to  Pope  ;  and  even  of  Dryden  it  must  be  said  that  if  he  has 
brighter  paragraphs,  he  has  not  better  poems. 

4.  Dryden's  performances  were  always  hasty — either  ex- 
cited by  some  external  occasion,  or  extorted  by  domestic 
necessity ;  he  composed  without  consideration,  and  pub- 
lished without  correction.  What  his  mind  could  supply  at 
call,  or  gather  at  one  excursion,  was  all  that  he  sought,  and 
all  that  he  gave.  The  dilatory  caution  of  Pope  enabled  him 
to  condense  his  sentiments,  to  multiply  his  images,  and  to 
accumulate  all  that  study  might  produce,  or  chance  might 
supply.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden,  therefore,  are  higher,  Pope 
continues  longer  on  the  wing.  If  of  Dryden's  fire  the  blaze 
is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the  heat  is  more  regular  and  constant. 
Dryden  often  surpasses  expectation,  and  Pope  never  falls 
below  it.  Dryden  is  read  with  frequent  astonishment,  and 
Pope  with  perpetual  dblight. 

DR.    SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 


LXVIL— PRESENT  CONDITION  OF   MAN  VINDICATED. 

1.  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  A  Fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state: 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know  * 
Or  who  could  suffer  Being  here  below? 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food. 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
Oh,  blindness  to  the  future !   kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  Heaven: 


DIDACTIC.  lJ*y 

Who  Bees  with  equal  eye,  as  Qod  of  all. 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 
Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 

2.  Hope  humbly,  then ;   with  trembling  pinions  soar ; 
Wait  the  great  teacher,  Death ;   and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  he  gives  not  thee  to  know. 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast : 
Man  never  Is,  but  always  To  bo  blest : 
Tlie  soul,  uneasy,  and  confined  from  home, 
Rests  ^nd  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

3    Lo,  the  poor  Indian !    whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind  ; 
His  soul,  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk,  or  Milky  Way ; 
Yet  simple  Nature  to  his  hope  has  given, 
Behind  the  cloud-capt  hill,  a  humbler  heaven  ; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste. 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire ; 
He  asks  no  angel's  wing,  no  seraph's  fire  ; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
Hi^  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 

4.  Go,  wiser  thou  I   and  in  thy  scale  of  sense 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence  ; 

Call  imperfection  what  thou  fancy'st  such. 
Say,  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much: 
Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust. 
Yet  cry,  if  man's  unhappy,  God's  unjust; 
If  man  alone  engross  not  Heaven's  high  care. 
Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there : 
Snatch  from  his  hand  the  balance  and  the  fc4, 
Re-judge  his  justice,  bo  the  God  of  God. 

5.  In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  liat; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  skieo. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes — 

Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. 


200  ELOCUTION. 

Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell. 

Aspiring  to  be  angeb,  men  rebel : 

And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 

Of  order,  sins  against  the  Eternal  Cause  popc. 


LXVIII.— ADVICE  TO  PREACHERS  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 

1.  It  is  unquestionably  to  be  wished,  that  he  who  devotei 
niaself  to  the  arduous  labor  which  preaching  requires, 
should  bo  wholly  ambitious  to  render  himself  useful  to  the 
cause  of  religion.  To  such,  reputation  can  never  be  a  suffi- 
cient recompense.  But  if  motives  so  pure  have  not  sufficient 
sway  in  your  breast,  calculate,  at  least,  the  advantages  of 
self-love,  and  you  may  perceive  how  inseparably  connected 
these  are  with  the  success  of  your  ministry. 

2.  Is  it  on  your  own  account  that  you  preach  ?  Is  it  for 
you  that  religion  assembles  her  votaries  in  a  temple  ?  You 
ought  never  to  indulge  so  presumptuous  a  thought.  How- 
ever, I  only  consider  you  as  an  orator.  Tell  me,  then,  what 
is  this  you  call  eloquence?  Is  it  the  wretched  trade  of 
imitating  that  criminal,  mentioned  by  a  poet  in  his  satires, 
who  "  balanced  his  crimes  before  his  judges  with  anti- 
thesis?" 

3.  Is  it  the  puerile  secret  of  forming  jejune  quibbles?  of 
rounding  periods?  of  tormenting  one's  self  by  tedious  stu- 
dies, in  order  to  reduce  sacred  instruction  into  a  vain  amuse- 
ment? Is  this,  then,  the  idea  which  you  have  conceived  of 
that  divine  art  which  disdains  frivolous  ornaments  —  which 
sways  the  most  numerous  assemblies,  and  which  bestows  on 
a  single  man  the  most  personal  and  majestic  of  all  sove- 
reignties ?  Are  you  in  quest  of  glory  ?  You  fly  from  it. 
Wit  alone  is  never  sublime  ;  and  it  is  only  by  the  vehe 
mence  of  the  passions  that  you  can  become  eloquent. 

4.  Reckon  up  all  the  illustrious  orators.  Will  you  find 
among  them  conceited,  subtle,  or  epigrammatic  writers? 
No;  these  immortal  men  confined  their  attempts  to  aflfect 
and  persuade;  and  their  having  been  always  simple,  is  that 
which  will  always  render  them  great.  How  is  this?  You 
wish  txj  proceed  in  their  footsteps,   and  you  stoop   to   the 


DIDACTIC.  201 

degrading  pretensions  of  a  rhetorician  !  And  jou  appear 
in  the  form  of  a  mendicant,  soliciting  commendations  from 
those  very  men  who  ought  to  tremble  at  your  feet.  Recover 
from  this  ignominy.  Be  eloquent  by  zeal,  instead  of  being 
a  mere  declaimer  through  vanity.  And  be  assured,  that  the 
most  certain  method  of  preaching  well  for  yourself,  is  to 
J  reach  usefully  to  others.  MAURY. 


LXIX.— POETRY  OF  SCIENCE. 

1.  The  9iystery  of  our  being,  and  the  mystery  of  our 
ceasing  to  be,  acting  upon  intelligences  that  are  forever 
striving  to  comprehend  the  enigma  of  themselves,  lead  by 
a  natural  process  to  a  love  for  the  ideal.  The  discovery  of 
those  truths  which  advance  the  human  mind  towards  that 
point  of  knowledge  to  which  all  its  secret  longings  tend, 
should  excite  a  higher  feeling  than  any  mere  creation  of 
the  fancy,  how  beautiful  soever  it  may  be. 

2.  The  phenomena  of  reality  are  more  startling  than  the 
phantoms  of  the  ideal.  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction. 
Surely  many  of  the  discoveries  of  science  which  relate  to 
the  combinations  of  matter,  and  exhibit  results  which  we 
could  not  by  any  previous  efi"orts  of  reasoning  dare  to  reckon 
on,  results  which  show  the  admirable  balance  of  the  forces 
of  nature,  and  the  might  of  their  uncontrolled  power,  ex- 
hibit to  our  senses  subjects  for  contemplation  truly  poetic 
in  their  character. 

3.  We  tremble  when  the  thunder-cloud  bursts  in  fury 
above  our  heads.  The  poet  seizes  on  the  terrors  of  the 
storm  to  add  to  the  interest  of  his  verse.  Fancy  paints  a 
storm-king,  and  the  genius  of  romance  clothes  his  demons 
in  lightnings,  and  they  are  heralded  by  thunders.  Thcff 
wild  imaginings  have  been  the  delight  of  mankind;  then 
is  subject  for  wonder  in  them;  but  is  there  any  thing  lesi 
wonderful  in  the  well-authenticated  fact,  that  the  dew  drop 
which  glistens  on  the  flower,  or  that  the  tear  which  trembles 
on  the  eye-lid,  holds,  locked  in  its  transparent  cell*,  an 
amount  of  electric  fire  equal  to  that  which  is  disch*  ^vd 
during  a  storm  from  a  thunder -cloud? 


2202  ELOCUTION. 

4.  In  these  studies  of  the  effects  which  are  continuallj 
presenting  themselves  to  the  observing  eye,  and  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  causes,  as  far  as  they  are  revealed  by  science  in 
its  search  of  the  physical  earth,  it  will  be  shown  that  be- 
neath the  beautiful  vesture  of  the  external  world  thei*e 
exists,  like  its  quickening  soul,  a  pervading  power,  assum- 
ing the  most  varied  aspects,  giving  to  the  whole  its  life  and 
loveliness,  and  linking  every  portion  of  this  material  ma.«»i 
in  a  common  bond  with  some  great  universal  principle  be- 
yond our  knowledge. 

5.  Whether  by  the  improvement  of  the  powers  of  the 
human  mind,  man  will  ever  be  enabled  to  embrace  within 
his  knowledge  the  laws  which  regulate  these  remote  princi- 
ples, we  are  not  sufficiently  advanced  in  intelligence  to  de- 
termine. But  if  admitted  even  to  a  clear  perception  of  the 
theoretical  power  which  we  regard  as  regulating  the  known 
forces,  we  must  still  see  an  unknown  agency  beyond  us, 
which  can  only  be  referred  to  the  Creator's  will. 

ROBERT   HUNT. 


LXX^BARLY  RISINO  CONDUCIVE  TO  HEALTH. 

1.  l/nwary  belles, 

Who,  day  by  day,  the  fashionable  round 
Of  dissipation  tread,  stealing  from  art 
The  blush  Eliza  owns,  to  hide  a  cheek 
Pale  and  deserted  ;   come,  and  learn  of  me 
How  to  be  ever  blooming,  young  and  fair. 
Give  to  the  mind  improvement.     Let  the  tongue 
Be  subject  to  the  heart  and  head.     AVithdraw 
From  city  smoke,  and  trip  with  agile  foot. 
Oft  as  the  day  begins,  the  steepy  down 
Or  velvet  lawn,  earning  the  bread  you  eat 

2.  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed 
The  breath  of  night's  destructive  to  the  hue 

Of  ev'ry  flower  that  blows.     Go  ^o  the  field, 
And  ask  the  humble  daisy  why  it  sleeps 
Soon  as  the  sun  departs?     "Why  close  the  eyes 
Of  blossoms  infinite,  long  ere  the  moon 
Her  oriental  vail  puts  off? 


DIDACTIC.  203 

Nor  let  the  sweetest  blossom  nature  boasts 
Be  thus  exposed  to  night's  unkindly  damp. 
Well  may  it  droop,  and  all  its  freshness  lose, 
Compelled  to  tnste  the  rank  and  poisonous  steam 
Of  midnight  theater,  and  morning  ball. 
Give  to  repose  the  solemn  hour  she  claims, 
And  from  the  forehead  of  the  morning,  steal 
The  sweet  occasion. 

3.  Oh,  there  is  a  charm 
Which  morning  has,  that  gives  the  brow  of  age 
A  smack  of  youth,  and  makes  the  life  of  youth 
Shed  perfumes  exquisite.     Expect  it  not. 
Ye  who  till  noon  upon  a  down-bed  lie, 
Indulging  feverous  sleep— a  wakeful  dream, 
Of  happiness,  no  mortal  heart  has  felt 
But  in  the  regions  of  Romance.     Ye  fair, 
Like  you,  it  must  be  wooed,  or  never  won ; 
And,  being  lost,  it  is  in  vain  ye  ask 
For  milk  of  roses,  and  Olympian  dew. 
Cosmetic  art  no  tincture  can  afford 
The  faded  features  to  restore:    no  chain. 
Be  it  of  gold,  and  strong  as  adamant, 
Can  fetter  beauty  to  the  fair  one's  will. 


LXXI.— ORATORY. 


1.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  orator  to  keep  one 
man  in  view  amidst  the  multitude  that  surround  him ;  and, 
while  composing,  to  address  himself  to  that  one  man  whose 
mistakes  he  laments,  and  whose  foibles  he  discovers.  This 
man  is  to  him  as  the  genius  of  Socrates,  standing  continu- 
ally at  his  side,  and  by  turns  interrogating  him,  or  answer- 
ing his  questions.  This  is  he  whom  the  orator  ought  never 
to  lose  sight  of  in  writing,  till  he  obtain  a  conquest  ovei 
his  prepossessions.  The  arguments  which  will  be  suffi- 
ciently persuasive  to  overcome  his  opposition,  will  equallj 
control  a  large  assembly. 

2.  The  orator  will  derive  still  farther  advantages  from  a 
numerous  concourse  of  people,  where  all  the  impressions 
made  at  the  time  will  convey  the  finest  triumphs  of  the 


204  ELOCUTION. 

art,  by  forming  a  species  of  action  and  rciiction  between  tho 
auditory  and  the  speaker.  It  is  in  thi8  sense  that  Cicero  in 
right  in  saying,  "That  no  man  can  be  eloquent  without  a 
multitude  to  hear  him." 

3.  The  auditor  came  to  hear  a  discourse;  the  orator  at 
tacks  him,  accuses  him,  makes  him  abashed;  addresses  him 
at  one  time  as  his  confidant,  at  another  as  his  mediator  or 
his  judge.  See  with  what  address  he  unvails  his  most  con- 
cealed passions;  with  what  penetration  he  shows  him  his 
most  intimate  thoughts ;  with  what  energy  he  annihilates 
his  best  framed  excuses  I  The  culprit  repents.  Profound 
attention,  consternation,  confusion,  remorse,  all  announce 
that  the  orator  has  penetrated,  in  his  retired  meditations, 
into  the  recesses  of  the  heart.  Then,  provided  no  ill-timed 
sally  of  wit  follow  to  blunt  the  strokes  of  Christian  elo- 
quence, there  may  be  in  the  church  two  thousand  auditors, 
yet  there  will  be  but  one  thought,  but  one  opinion;  and  all 
those  individuals  united,  form  that  ideal  man  whom  the  ora- 
tor had  in  view  while  composing  his  discourse. 

4.  But,  you  may  ask,  where  is  this  ideal  man,  composed 
of  so  many  different  traits,  to  be  found,  unless  we  describe 
some  chimerical  being  ?  Where  shall  we  find  a  phantom 
like  this,  singular  but  not  outr^,  in  which  every  individual 
may  recognize  himself,  although  it  resembles  not  any  one  ? 
Where  shall  we  find  him  ?  In  your  own  heart.  Often  re- 
tire there.  Survey  all  its  recesses.  There  you  will  trace 
both  the  pleas  for  those  passions  which  you  will  have  to 
combat,  and  the  source  of  those  false  reasonings  which  you 
must  point  out.  To  be  eloquent  we  must  enter  within  our- 
selves. The  first  productions  of  a  young  orator  are  gener- 
ally too  far  fetched.  His  mind,  always  on  the  stretch,  is 
making  continual  efforts,  without  his  ever  venturing  to  com 
mit  himself  to  the  simplicity  of  nature,  until  experiencf 
leaches  hira  that,  to  arrive  at  the  sublime,  it  is,  in  fact,  less 
necessary  to  elevate  his  imagination,  than  to  be  deeply  im 
pressed  with  his  subject. 

5.  If  you  have  studied  the  sacred  books;  if  you  have 
observed  men  ;  if  you  have  attended  to  writers  on  morals, 
who  serve  you  instead  of  historians;  if  you  have  become 


DIDACTIC.  205 

ramiliar  with  the  language  of  orators,  make  trial  of  youi 
eloquence  upon  yourself,  become,  so  to  speak,  the  auditor  of 
your  own  discourses;  and  thus,  by  anticipating  the  effect 
which  they  ou*:ht  to  produce,  you  will  easily  delineate  true 
characters ;  you  will  perceive  that,  notwithstanding  the 
shades  of  difference  which  distinguish  them,  all  men  bear 
in  interior  resemblance  to  one  another,  and  that  their  vices 
have  a  uniformity,  because  they  always  proceed  either  from 
weakn3ss  or  interest.  In  a  word,  your  descriptions  will  not 
be  indeterminate  ;  and  the  more  thoroughly  you  shall  have 
examined, what  passes  within  your  own  breast,  with  more 
ability  will  you  unfold  the  hearts  of  others. 

MAUBT. 


LXXIL— FLOWERS. 


1.  Spukc  full  well,  in  language  quaint  and  olden, 

One  who  dwelleth  by  the  castled  Rhine, 
When  .he  called  the  flowers,  so  blue  and  golden, 
Stars,  that  in  earth's  firmament  do  shine. 

2.  Stars  they  arc,  wherein  we  read  our  history, 

As  astrologers  and  seers  of  eld ; 
Yet  not  wrapped  about  with  awful  mystery, 
Like  the  burning  stars  which  they  beheld. 

3.  Wondrous  truths,  and  manifold  as  wondrous, 

Ood  hath  written  in  those  stars  above; 
But  not  less  in  the  bright  flow'rets  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  Ilis  love. 

4.  Bright  and  glorious  is  that  revelation. 

Written  all  over  this  great  world  of  ours, 
Making  evident  our  own  creation, 

In  these  stars  of  earth — these  golden  flowers. 

5.  And  the  poet,  faithful  and  far-seeing, 

Sees,  alike  in  stars  and  flowers,  a  part 
Of  the  self-same  universal  Being, 

Which  is  throbbing  in  his  brain  and  heart 

6.  Gorgeous  flowers  in  the  sunlight  shining. 

Blossoms  flaunting  in  the  eye  of  day ; 
Tremulous  leaves,  with  soft  and  silver  lining, 
Buds  that  open  only  to  deMj  • 


20G  ELOCLliuN. 

7.  Hrilliaiit  hopes,  all  woven  in  gorgeous  tissues, 

Kliuinting  gaily  in  the  golden  light; 
]/ir^'<«  tlesires,  with  most  uncertain  issues, 
Tt-iuler  wishes,  blossoming  at  night! 

8.  These  in  flowers  and  men  are  more  than  seeming; 

Workings  are  they  of  the  self-same  Power, 
Which  the  poet,  in  no  idle  dreaming, 
Seeth  in  himself  and  in  the  flower. 

9.  Every  where  about  us  are  they  glowing, 

Some,  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  bom ; 
Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowing. 
Stand,  like  Ruth,  amid  the  golden  corn. 

10.  Not  alone  in  Spring's  armorial  bearing, 

And  in  Summer's  green-emblazoned  field. 
But  in  arms  of  brare  old  Autumn's  wearing, 
In  the  center  of  his  brazen  shield ; 

1 1    Not  alone  in  meadows  and  green  alleys. 
On  the  mountain-top,  and  by  the  brink' 
Of  sequestered  pools  in  woodland  vaileys, 
Where  the  slaves  of  nature  stoop  to  drink ; 

12.  Not  alone  in  her  rast  dome  of  glory, 

Not  on  graves  of  bird  and  beast  Mone, 
But  in  old  cathedrals,  high  and  hoary, 
On  the  tombs  of  heroes,  carved  in  stone ; 

13.  In  the  cottage  of  the  .rudest  peasant, 

In  ancestral  homes,  whose  crumbling  towers, 
Speaking  of  the  Past  unto  the  Present, 
Tell  us  of  the  ancient  games  of  flowers; 

14.  In  all  places,  then,  and  in  all  seasons, 

Flowers  expand  their  light  and  soul-like  wiugs. 
Teaching  us,  by  most  persuasive  reasons, 
How  akin  they  are  to  human  thii^«. 

15.  And  with  childlike,  credulous  affevdon, 

We  behold  their  tender  buds  expand  ; 
Emblems  of  our  own'  great  resurrection, 
Emblems  of  "the  bright  and  better  land." 

LOk'GFKi.LOU 


MORAL     AND     U KLIOIO  US.  :iu7 


MORAL   AND   REIvIGIOUS, 


LXXIIl.— THE  INSPIRATION  OF  THE  BIBLE. 

1.  Sura  is  the  intrinsic  excellence  of  Christianity  that  \\ 
is  adapted  to  the  wants  of  all,  and  it  provides  for  all,  not  onlj 
by  its  precepts  and  by  its  doctrines,  but  also  by  its  evidence. 

2.  The  poor  man  may  know  nothing  of  history,  or  sci- 
ence, or  phrlosophyj  he  may  have  read  scarcely  any  book 
but  the  Bible  ;  he  may  bo  totally  unable  to  vanquish  the 
skeptic  in  the  arena  of  public  debate ;  but  he  is  nevertheless 
surrounded  by  a  panoply  which  the  shafts  of  infidelity  can 
never  pierce. 

3.  You  may  go  to  the  home  of  the  poor  cottager,  whose 
heart  is  deeply  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  vital  Christianity  ; 
you  may  see  him  gather  his  little  family  around  him  :  he 
expounds  to  them  the  wholesome  doctrines  and  principles 
of  the  Bible,  and  if  they  want  to  know  the  evidence  upon 
which  he  rests  his  faith,  of  the  divine  origin  of  his  religion, 
he  can  tell  them  upon  reading  the  book  which  teaches  Chris- 
tianity, he  finds  not  only  a  perfectly  true  description  of  his 
own  natural  character,  but  in  the  provisions  of  this  religion 
i  perfect  adaptation  to  all  his  needs. 

4.  It  is  a  religion  by  which  to  live — a  religion  by  which 
to  die;  a  religion  which  cheers  in  darkness,  relieves  i«  per 
plexity,  supports  in  adversity,  keeps  stcadfiist  in  ^osperity, 
and  guides   the   inquirer   to   that  blessed  land  where  "  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

5.  We   entreat   you,  therefore,  to   give  the  Bible  a  wel- 
come— a  cordial  reception  ;  obey  its  precepts,  trust  its  prom 
ises,  and  rely  implicitly  upon  that  Divine  Kedeemcr,  whosi 
religion  brings  glory  to  God  in   the  highest,  and  on  earth, 
peace  and  good  will  to  men. 

<).  Thus  will  you  fulfill  the  noble  end  of  your  existence, 
and  the  great  God  of  the  universe  will  be  your  father  and 
your  friend;  and  when  the  last  mighty  convulsion  shall 
Hhakc  the  earth,  and  the  sea,  and  the  sky,  and  the  fragments 


208  ELOCUTION. 

of  a  thousand  barks,  richly  freighted  with  intellect  ano 
learning,  are  scattered  on  the  shores  of  error  and  delusion 
your  vessel  shall  in  safety  outride  the  storm  and  enter  in 
triumph  the  haven  of  eternal  rest.  edw.  wintorop. 


LXXnr.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 

1. — MT  mother's   bible. 

1.  This  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now! 

Tears  will  unbidden  start; 
With  faltering  lip  and  throbbing  brow, 

I  press  it  to  my  heart 
For  many  generations  post, 

Here  is  our  family  tree: 
My  mother's  hands  this  Bible  clasped ; 

She,  dying,  gave  it  me. 

2.  Ah  :  wtll  Jo  I  remember  those 

Whose  names  these  records  bear, 
Who  round  the  hearth-stone  used  to  cloe6» 

After  the  evening  prayer ; 
And  speak  of  what  these  pages  said, 

In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill ! 
Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 

Here  are  they  living  still. 

3.  My  father  read  this  holy  book 

To  brothers,  sisters,  dear; 
How  calm  was  my  dear  mother's  look, 
•      Who  loved  0  !  to  hear. 

Her  aged  face — i  yet, 

As  thronging  memories  come ! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  halls  of  home ! 

4.  Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew. 

Thy  constancy  I've  tried; 
When  all  were  false  I  found  thee  true, 

My  counselor  and  guide. 
The  mines  of  ^arth  no  treasure  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy: 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 

It  tuuirht  me  how  to  die.  g.  p.  horsis 


MORAL    AND   RELIGIOUS.  209 

2. — TARRY   WITH    ME. 

1.  Tarry  with  me,  0  my  Savior ! 
For  the  day  is  passing  by  ; 
See !  the  shades  of  evrning  gather, 
And  the  night  is  drawing  nigh: 
Tarry  with  me!  tarry  with  me! 
Pass  me  not  unheeded  by. 

2    Many  friends  were  gathered  round  me. 
In  the  bright  days  of  the  past; 
Bijt  the  grave  has  closed  above  them, 

And  I  linger  here  the  last: 
I  am  lonely,  tarry  with  me 
Till  the  dreary  night  is  past. 

3.  Dimmed  for  me  is  earthly  beauty ; 

Yet  the  spirit's  eye  would  fain 
Rest  upon  thy  lovely  features; 

Shall  I  seek,  dear  Lord,  in  vain? 
Tarry  with  me,  0  my  Savior, 

Let  me  see  thy  smile  again! 

4.  Dull  my  ear  to  earth-born  music ; 

Speak  thou,  Lord,  in  words  of  cheer  ; 
Feeble,  tottering  my  footsteps. 

Sinks  my  heart  with  sudden  fear; 
Cast  thine  arms,  dear  Lord,  around  me 

Let  me  feel  thy  presence  near. 


LXXV.— VARIETIES. 
1. — GOODNESS   OP   GOD. 


1.  Tqe  light  of  nature,  the  works  of  creation,  the  genera' 
consent  of  nations,  in  harmony  with  divine  revelation,  at' 
test  the  being,  the  perfections,  and  the  providence  of  God 
Whatever  cause  we  have  to  lament  the  frequent  inconsis 
tency  of  human  conduct,  with  this  belief,  yet  an  avowed 
atheist  is  a  monster,  that  rarely  makes  his  appearance 
God's  government  of  the  affairs  of  the  universe,  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  active,  superintending  providence,  over  that 
portion  of  it,  which  constitutes  the  globe  we  inhabit,  is  re- 
jected, at  least  theoretically,  by  very  few. 
Kii.n       1^ 


210  ELOCUTION. 

2.  That  a  superior,  invisible  power  tiuuallj  em- 
ployed in  managing  and  controlling  by  soeret,  impercep- 
tible, irresistible  means,  all  the  transactions  of  the  world,  is 
80  often  manifested  in  the  disappointment,  as  well  as  in  the 
success  of  our  plans,  that  blind  and  depraved  must  our  minds 
be,  to  deny  what  every  day's  transactions  so  fully  prove. 
The  excellence  of  the  divine  character,  especially  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  that  goodness  toward  his  creatures,  which  is  seen 
in  the  dispensation  of  their  daily  benefits,  and  in  overruling 
occurring  event.'^,  '  <•  increase  of  their  happiness,  is 
equally  obvious. 

3.  Do  we  desire  evidence  of  these  things  i*  Who  is  with- 
out them,  in  the  experience  of  his  own  life  ?  Who  has 
not  reason,  to  thank  God  for  the  success,  which  has  at- 
tended his  exertions  in  the  world?  Who  has  not  reason 
to  thank  him,  for  defeating  plans,  the  accomplishment  of 
which,  it  has  been  afterward  seen,  would  have  resulted  in 
injury  or  ruin?  Who  has  not  cause,  to  present  him  the 
unaffected  homage  of  a  grateful  heart,  for  the  consequences 
of  events,  apparently  the  most  unpropitious,  and  for  his 
unquestionable  kindness,  in  the  daily  supply  of  needful 
mercies  ? 

2. — THE   SNOW   OF   AGE. 

"  No  snow  ttlU  lighter  than  the  soow  of  kge ;  but  none  ia  heavier,  for  it  never 
melts." 

1,  The  figure  is  by  no  means  novel,  but  the  closing  part 
of  the  sentence  is  new  as  well  as  emphatic.  The  Scripture 
represents  age  by  the  almond  tree,  which  bears  blossoms 
of  the  purest  white.  "  The  almond  tree  shall  flourish  " — 
the  head  shall  be  hoary.  Dickens  says  of  one  of  his  char- 
acters whose  hair  was  turning  gray,  that  it  looked  as  if 
Time  had  lightly  splashed  his  snows  upon  it  in  passing. 

2.  "  It  never  melts" — no,  never.  Age  is  inexorable,  lit 
wheels  must  move  onward — they  know  no  retrograde  move- 
ment. The  old  man  may  sit  and  sing,  <'  I  would  I  were  a 
boy  again  " — but  he  grows  older  as  he  sings.  He  may  read 
of  the  elixir  of  youth,  but  he  can  not  find  it;  he  may  sigh 
for  the  secrets  of  that  alchemy  which  is  able  to  make  him 
young  again,  but  sighing  brings  it  not.    He  may  gaze  back 


MORAL    AND     RELIGIOUS.  211 

ward  with  an  eye  of  longing  upon  the  rosy  schomes  of  early 
years ;  but,  as  one  who  gazes  on  his  home  from  the  deck 
of  a  departing  ship,  every  moment  carries  him  farther  and 
farther  away.  Poor  old  man  !  he  has  little  more  to  do 
than  die. 

3.  "  It  never  melts."  The  snow  of  winter  comes  and 
ihcds  its  white  blessings  upon  the  valley  and  the  mountain 
I  jt  soon  the  sweet  Spring  comes  and  smiles  it  all  away 
Not  so  with  that  upon  the  brow  of  the  tottering  veteran. 
There  is  no  Spring  whose  warmth  can  penetrate  its  eternal 
frost.  It  came  to  stay.  Its  single  flakes  fell  unnoticed — 
and  now  it  is  drilled  there.  We  shall  see  it  increase  until 
we  lay  the  old  man  in  his  grave.  There  it  shall  be  ab- 
sorbed by  the  eternal  darkness  —  for  there  is  no  age  in 
heaven. 

4.  Yet  why  speak  of  age  in  a  mournful  strain?  It  is 
beautiful,  honorable,  eloquent.  Should  we  sigh  at  the  prox- 
imity of  death,  when  life  and  the  world  are  so  full  of  empti- 
ness? Let  the  old  exult  because  they  are  old — if  any  must 
weep,  let  it  be  the  young,  at  the  long  succession  of  cares 
that  are  before  them.  Welcome  the  snow,  for  it  is  the  em- 
blem of  peace  and  of  rest.  It  is  but  a  temporal  crown  which 
shall  fall  at  the  gates  of  Paradise,  to  be  replaced  by  -^  brightei 
<ind  a  better. 


LXXVI.— SUSPENSE. 

1.  When'  all  is  known,  the  darkest  fate 
The  smitten  heart  may  learn  to  bear, 
And  feci,  when  time  can  not  abate, 
The  settled  calmness  of  despair ; 
But  who  can  well  endure  the  grief— 
Which  knows  no  refuge  or  defense. 
That  a;:e  of  pain,  in  moments  brief — 
The  untold  anguifth  of  suspense  1 

'1.  When  once  the  first  rude  shock  is  past 
Tlio  hcait  may  still  the  storm  outride, 
A.s.  from  the  wreck  around  it  cast. 
It  finds  support  to  breast  the  tide ; 


512  ELOCUTION. 

But  thus  to  linger  day  by  day, 
A  prey  to  that  tureboding  sense 
Which  gives  a  pang  to  each  delay, 
And  agonizes  with  suspense! 

3.  To  feel  an  erer  present  dread 
Of  some  imperding,  nameless  ill, 

Is  keener  than  the  shaft,  when  sped, 
Which  makes  the  wounded  bosom  thrilL 
Then  let  me  know  the  worst  of  fate. 
Though  it  may  rend  with  pangs  intense. 
For  sure  no  pangs  were  e'er  so  great 
As  are  the  tortures  of  suspense. 

4.  And  yet,  the  soul  that  trusts  in  God 
Can  find  a  balm  for  every  woe. 

Since  His  own  hand  upholds  the  rod. 
And  mercy  tempers  every  blow; 
O  then,  my  soul,  be  strong  in  trust — 
Whatever  fate  lie  may  dispense. 
Although  the  swelling  heart  may  burst, 
While  agonizing  in  suspense. 

RKV.    SIDNEY     DVER. 


LXXVII.— THE  TELESCOPE  AND  MICROSCOPE. 

1.  It  was  the  telescope  that,  by  piercing  the  obscurity 
which  lies  between  us  and  distant  worlds,  put  infidelity  in 
possession  of  the  argument  against  which  we  are  now  con- 
tending; but,  about  the  time  of  its  invention,  another  in- 
strument was  formed,  which  laid  open  a  scene  no  less  won- 
derful, and  rewarded  the  inquisitive  spirit  of  man  with  a 
discovery,  which  serves  to  neutralize  the  whole  of  this  argu- 
ment. This  was  the  microscope.  The  one  led  me  to  a  sys- 
tem in  every  star — the  othor  leads  me  t3  see  a  world  in 
every  atom. 

2.  The  one  taught  me  that  this  mighty  globe,  with  tha 
rhole  burden  of  its  people  and  of  its  countries,  is  but  a 
grain  of  sand  on  the  high  field  of  in.mensity — the  other 
teaches  me  that  every  grain  of  sand  may  harbor  within  it 
the  tribes  and  families  of  a  busy  population.  The  one  told 
me  of  the  magnificence  of  the  world  I  tread  upon — the  other 


MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS.  213 

redeems  it  from  all  its  insignificance ;  for  it  tells  mc  that  in 
the  leaves  of  every  forest,  and  in  the  flowers  of  every  gar- 
den, and  in  the  waters  of  every  rivulet,  there  are  worlds 
teeming  with  life,  and  numberless  as  are  the  glories  of  the 
firmament. 

3.  The  one  has  suggested  to  me,  that  beyond  and  above 
all  that  is  visible  to  man,  there  may  lie  fields  of  creation 
which  sweep  immeasurably  along,  and  carry  the  impress 
of  the  Almighty's  hand  to  the  remotest  scenes  of  the  uni- 
verse— the  other  suggests  to  me,  that  within  and  beneath  all 
that  minuteness  which  the  aided  eye  of  man  has  been  able 
to  explore,  there  may  lie  a  region  of  invisibles  ;  and  that, 
could  we  draw  aside  the  mysterious  curtain  which  shrouds 
it  from  our  senses,  we  might  there  see  a  theater  of  as  many 
wonders  as  astronomy  has  unfolded,  a  universe  within  the 
compass  of  a  point  so  small,  as  to  elude  all  the  powers  of 
the  microscope,  but  where  the  wonder-working  God  finds 
room  for  the  exercise  of  all  His  attributes,  where  He  can 
raise  another  mechanism  of  worlds,  and  fill  and  animate 
them  all  with  the  evidences  of  his  glory. 

4.  Now,  mark  how  all  this  may  be  made  to  meet  the  ar- 
gument of  our  infidel  astronomers.  By  the  telescope,  they 
have  discovered  that  no  magnitude,  however  vast,  is  beyond 
the  grasp  of  the  Divinity ;  but  by  the  microscope,  we  have 
also  discovered,  that  no  minuteness,  however  shrunk  from 
the  notice  of  the  human  eye,  is  beneath  the  condescension 
of  His  regard.  Every  addition  to  the  powers  of  the  one  in- 
strument extends  the  limit  of  His  visible  dominions  ;  but, 
by  every  addition  of  the  powers  of  the  other  instrument,  we 
see  each  part  of  them  more  crowded  than  before  with  the 
wonders  of  His  unwearying  hand.  The  one  is  constantly 
widening  the  circle  of  His  territory — the  other  is  as  con- 
■tantly  filling  up  its  separate  portions  with  all  that  is  rich, 
ftod  various,  and  exquisite.  In  a  word,  by  the  one  I  am 
told  that  the  Almighty  is  now  at  work  in  regions  more  dis- 
tant than  geometry  has  ever  measured,  and  among  worlds 
more  manifold  than  numbers  have  ever  reached;  but,  by 
the  other,  [  am  also  told,  that  with  a  mind  to  comprehend 
the  whoU,  in  the  vast  compass  of  its  generality,  He  has  also 


214  ELOCUTION. 

a  mind  to  concentrate  a  close  and  a  separate  attention  on 
each  and  on  all  of  its  particulars ;  and  that  the  same  God, 
who  sends  forth  an  upholding  influence  among  the  orbs  and 
the  movements  of  astronomy,  can  fill  the  recesses  of  every 
single  atom  with  the  intimacy  of  His  presence,  and  travel, 
in  all  the  greatness  of  His  unimpaired  attributes,  upon  every 
one  spot  and  corner  of  the  universe  He  has  formed. 

5.  They,  therefore,  who  think  that  God  will  not  put  forth 
6uch  a  power,  and  such  a  goodness,  and  such  a  condescen- 
sion, in  behalf  of  this  world,  as  are  ascribed  to  Him  in  the 
New  Testament,  because  He  has  so  many  other  worlds  to  at- 
tend to,  think  of  Him  as  a  man.  They  confine  their  view 
to  the  informations  of  the  telescope,  and  forget  altogether 
the  informations  of  the  other  instrument.  They  only  find 
room  in  their  minds  for  His  one  attribute  of  a  large  and  gen- 
eral superintendence;  and  keep  out  of  their  remembrance 
the  equally  impressive  proofs  we  have  for  His  other  attri- 
bute, of  a  minute  and  multiplied  attention  to  all  that  diver- 
sity of  operations,  where  it  is  He  that  workcth  all  in  all. 

6.  And  when  I  think,  that  as  one  of  the  instruments  of 
philosophy  has  hightened  our  every  impression  of  the  first  of 
these  attributes,  so  another  instrument  has  no  less  hightened 
our  impression  of  the  second  of  them — then  I  can  no  longer 
resist  the  conclusion,  that  it  would  be  a  transgression  of  sound 
argument,  as  well  as  a  daring  of  impiety,  to  draw  a  limit 
around  the  doings  of  this  unsearchable  God — and,  should  a 
professed  revelation  from  heaven  tell  me  of  an  act  of  con- 
descension, in  behalf  of  some  separate  world,  so  wonderful, 
that  angels  desire  to  look  into  it,  and  the  Eternal  Son  had 
to  move  from  His  seat  of  glory  to  carry  it  into  accomplish- 
ment, all  I  ask  is  the  evidence  of  such  a  revelation  ;  for,  let 
it  tell  me  as  much  as  it  may  of  God  letting  himself  down  for 
the  benefit  of  one  single  province  of  His  dominions,  this  is 
no  more  than  what  I  see  lying  scattered,  in  numberless  ex- 
amples, before  me;  and  running  through  the  whole  line  of 
my  recollections;  and  meeting  me  in  every  walk  of  observa- 
tion to  which  I  can  betake  myself;  and,  now  that  the  mi 
croscope  has  un vailed  the  wonders  of  another  region,  I  see 
strewed  around  me.  with  a  profusion  which  baffles  my  everv 


MORAL    AND     RELIGIOUS.  215 

ittempt  to  comprehend  it,  the  evidence  that  there  is  no  one 
portion  of  the  universe  of  God  too  minute  for  His  notice, 
nor  too  humble  for  the  visitations  of  His  care. 

DR.   CHALMER8 


LXXVIIL— THE  UNSEEN  BATTLE-FIELD. 

1.  TnERE  is  an  unseen  battle-field 

In  every  human  breast, 
Where  two  opposing  forces  meet, 
But  where  they  seldom  rest. 

2.  That  field  is  vailed  from  mortal  sight, 

'T  is  only  seen  by  One 
Who  knows  alone  where  victory  lies, 
When  each  day's  bght  is  done. 

3.  One  army  clusters  strong  and  fierce, 

Their  chief  of  demon  form  -, 
His  brow  is  like  the  thunder-cloud, 
Ilis  voice  the  bursting  storm, 

4.  His  captains,  Pride,  and  Lust,  and  Hate, 

Whose  troops  watch  night  and  day, 
Swift  to  detect  the  weakest  point. 
And  thirsting  for  the  fray. 

5.  Contending  with  this  mighty  force 

Is  but  a  little  band ; 
Yet  there,  with  an  unquailing  front, 
Those  warriors  firmly  standi 

6.  Their  leader  is  a  God-like  form. 

Of  countenance  serene ; 
And  glowing  on  his  naked  breast 
A  simple  cross  is  seen. 

7.  His  captains,  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  lion, 

Point  to  that  wondrous  sign; 
And,  gazing  on  it,  all  receive 
Strength  from  a  Source  divine. 

8.  They  feel  it  speak  a  glorious  truth 

A  truth  as  great  as  sure, 
That  to  be  victors  they  must  learn 
To  love,  confide,  endure. 


*^I6  ELOCUTION. 

9.  That  faith  sublime  in  wildest  strife, 
Imparts  a  hulj  calm; 
For  every  deadly  blow  a  shield, 
For  every  wound  a  balm. 

10.  And  when  they  win  that  battle-field, 

Past  toil  is  quite  forgot ; 
The  plain  where  carnage  once  had  reigned* 
Becomes  a  hallowed  spot : 

11.  A  spot  where  flowers  of  joy  and  peace 

Spring  from  the  fertile  sod, 
And  breathe  the  perfume  of  their  praise 
On  every  breeze — to  God. 


LXXIX. -VARIETIES. 
1. — THE   PROPER  LIMITS   OF  BENEVOLENCE. 

1.  Kind  and  amiable  people,  your  benevolence  is  most 
lovely  in  its  display,  but  oh !  it  is  perishable  in  its  conse- 
quences. Does  it  never  occur  to  you  that  in  a  few  years 
this  favorite  will  die;  and  that  he  wiJl  go  to  the  place  where 
neither  cold  nor  hunger  will  reach  nim ;  but  that  a  mighty 
interest  remains,  of  which  both  of  us  may  know  the  cer- 
tainty, though  neither  you  nor  I  can  calculate  the  extent? 
Your  benevolence  is  too  short:  it  does  not  shoot  far 
enough  ahead ;  it  is  like  regaling  a  child  with  a  sweetmeat 
or  a  toy,  and  then  abandoning  the  happy,  unreflecting  infant 
to  exposure. 

2.  You  make  the  poor  old  man  happy  with  your  crumbs 
and  your  fragments,  but  he  is  an  infant  on  the  mighty  range 
of  duration  ;  and  wjll  you  leave  the  soul,  which  has  the  in- 
finity to  go  through,  to  its  chance?  IIow  comes  it  that  the 
grave  should  throw  so  impenetrable  a  shroud  over  the  real  • 
ities  of  eternity?  how  comes  it  that  heaven,  and  hell,  and 
judgment,  should  be  treated  as  so  many  nonentities ;  and 
that  there  should  be  as  little  real  and  operative  sympathy 
felt  for  the  soul  which  lives  forever,  as  for  the  body  after 
it  is  dead,  or  for  the  dust  into  which  it  molders  ?  Eternity 
i?  longer  than  time  ;  the  arithmetic,  my  brethren,  is  all  on 


MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS.  217 

one  Bide  upon  this  question;  and  the  wisdom  which  calon* 
lates,  and  guides  itself  by  calculation,  gives  its  weighty 
and  respectable  support  to  what  may  bo  callea  the  benevo- 
lence  of  faith.  Chalmers. 

2. — ACCESS   TO  GOD. 

1.  However  early  in  the  morning  you  seek  the  gate  of 
i:cess,  you  find  it  already  open;  and  the  midnight  moment 
when  you  find  yourself  in  the  sudden  arms  of  death,  the 
winged  prayer  can  bring  an  instant  Savior  near.  And  this 
wherever  you  are.  It  needs  not  that  you  ascend  some 
special  Pisgah  or  Moriah,  It  needs  not  that  you  should 
enter  some  awful  shrine,  or  pull  oiF  your  shoes  on  some 
holy  ground. 

2.  Could  a  memento  be  reared  on  every  spot  from  which 
an  acceptable  prayer  had  passed  away,  and  on  which  a 
prompt  answer  has  come  down,  we  should  find  Jehovah- 
shammah,  ''the  Lord  hath  been  here,"  inscribed  on  many 
a  cottage  hearth,  and  many  a  dungeon  floor.  We  should 
find  it  not  only  in  Jerusalem's  proud  Temple,  and  David's 
cedar  galleries,  but  in  the  fisherman's  cottage  by  the  brink 
of  Genesareth  and  in  the  chamber  where  Pentecost  began. 

3.  Whether  it  be  the  field  where  Isaac  went  to  meditate, 
or  the  rocky  knoll  where  Jacob  lay  down  to  sleep,  or  the 
brook  where  Israel  wrestled,  or  the  den  where  Daniel  gazed 
on  lions  and  the  lions  gazed  on  him,  on  the  hill-sides  where 
the  Man  of  sorrows  prayed  all  night,  we  should  still  discern 
the  prints  of  the  ladder's  feet  let  down  from  heaven — the 
landing-place  of  mercies,  because  the  starting-point  of  prayer. 
And  all  this  whatsoever  you  are. 

4.  It  needs  no  saints,  no  proficient  in  piety,  no  adept  in 
eloquent  language,  no  dignity  of  earthly  rank.  It  needs 
but  a  blind  beggar,  a  loathsome  lazar.  It  needs  but  a 
penitent  publican,  or  a  dying  thief.  And  it  needs  no  sharp 
ordeal,  no  costly  passport,  no  painful  expiation,  to  bring 
you  *to  the  mercy-seat.  The  Savior's  merit — the  name  of 
Jesus,  priceless  as  they  are,  cost  the  sinner  nothing.  They 
are  freely  put  at  his  disposal,  and  instantly  and  constantly 
be  may  use  of  them.     This  access  to  God  in  every  place,  at 

KlDD— 19 


218  BLOC  I  1  i   ..> . 

every  moment    without  any  price  or  personal  merit,  is  it 
not  a  privilege?  james  Hamilton. 


LXXX.— OOD,  THE  TRUE  SOURCE  OF  CONSOLATION. 

1.  0  Tooc,  who  driest  the  mourner's  tear. 

How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 
We  could  not  fly  to  thee ! 

2.  The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live. 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 
Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 

3.  But  Thou  wilt  heal  the  broken  heart. 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part. 
Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

4.  When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers. 

And  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 

A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears. 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished,  too ! 

5.  Oh!  who  could  bear  life's  stormy  doom 

Did  not  Thy  wing  of  love 
Come  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 
Our  peace-branch  from  above  I 

6.  Then,  sorrow,  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  then  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light, 
We  never  saw  by  day.  moork 


LXXXL— "  WE  'LL  ALL  MEET  AGAIN  IN  THE  MORNING. 

1.  0  WILD  is  the  tempest,  and  dark  is  the  night. 
But  soon  will  tlie  da3'break  be  dawning; 

Then  the  friendships  of  yore 

Shall  blossom  once  more, 
"And  we'll  all  meet  again  in  the  morning.'' 


MORAL   AND   RELIGIOUS.  219 

-.  All  thou  doomed  in  a  far  distant  region  to  roam, 
To  meet  the  cold  gaze  of  the  stranger ; 
Dost  thuu  3'earn  fur  the  smiles  of  the  loved  ones  at  home, 
While  thuii  pray'st  God  to  shield  them  from  danger? 
Ah!  the  hight  of  the  waters  may  shadow  my  form, 
Yet  soon  will  the  daybreak  be  dawning ; 

And  thou 'It  mingle  once  more 

With  the  loved  ones  on  shore — 
"  For  we  '11  all  meet  again  in  the  morning." 

3.  Dost  thou  miss  the  sweet  voice  of  a  fond  loving  wife, 
Whose  music  brought  balm  to  thy  sorrow ; 

Didst  thou  see  her  decline  in  the  sunset  of  life, 
Nor  felt  one  bright  hope  for  the  morrow  ? 
0,  cheer  up,  dear  brother!  the  night  may  be  dark, 
Yet  soon  will  the  daybreak  be  dawning; 

Of  all  ties  bereft, 

One  hope  is  still  left — 
"We'll  all  meet  again  in  the  morning." 

4.  Art  thou  wearied,  0  pilgrim,  on  life's  desert  waste; 
Dost  thou  sigh  for  the  shade  of  the  wild-wood ; 

Have  the  world's  choicest  fruits  proved  bitter  to  taste, 
And  mocked  all  the  dreams  of  thy  childhood? 
0,  cheer  up,  poor  pilgrim,  faint  not  on  thy  way. 
For  soon  will  the  daybreak  bo  dawning; 

Then  the  dreams  which  have  fled. 

Shall  arise  from  the  dead — 
"And  all  will  be  bright  in  the  morning  1" 

5.  0,  servant  of  Christ!  too  heavy  the  cross, 
lias  thy  trust  in  thy  Master  been  shaken? 

In  doubt  and  in  darkness  thy  faith  has  been  lost. 
And  thou  cricst,  "My  God,  I'm  forsaken!" 
But  cheer  up,  dear  bruther !  the  night  can  not  last, 
And  soon  will  the  daybreak  bo  dawning; 

Then  the  trials  of  earth 

We  have  borne  from  our  birth, 
"Will  all  l»e  made  right  in  tLo  morning  !  " 

u.  CLAT  raun 


•220  ELOCUTION.. 

LXXXIL—TELL  ME,  YE  WINGED  WINDa 

1.  Tell  me,  yo  winged  winda, 
That  round  my  pathway  roar, 
Do  you  not  know  some  spot 
Where  mortals  weep  no  more? 
Some  lone  and  pleasant  dell, 
Some  valley  in  the  west. 
Where,  free  from  toil  and  pain, 
The  weary  soul  may  rest? 

The  loud  wind  softened  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity  as  it  whispered — "No!" 

2.  Tell  me,  thou  mighty  deep, 
Whose  billows  round  me  play, 
Know'st  thou  some  favored  spot, 
Some  island  far  away. 

Where  weary  man  may  find 

The  bliss  for  which  ho  sighs. 

Where  sorrow  never  lives 

And  friendship  never  dies? 
The  loud  waves  rolling  in  perpetual  flow, 
Stopped  for  a  while,  and  sighed  to  answer — "No I' 

3.  And  thou,  serenest  moon. 
That  with  such  holy  face 
Dost  look  upon  the  earth. 
Asleep  in  night's  embrace, 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round, 
Ilast  thou  not  seen  some  spot. 
Where  miserable  man 
Might  find  a  happier  lot? 

Behind  a  cloud  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe. 
And  a  voice  sweet,  but  sad,  responded — "  No  1" 

4.  Tell  me,  my  secret  soul, 
O!   tell  me,  llope  and  Faith, 
Is  there  no  resting-place 
From  sorrow,  sin,  and  death? 
Is  there  no  happy  spot. 
Where  mortals  may  be  blest 
Where  grief  may  find  a  balm, 
And  weariness  a  rest? 

Faith,  Ilcpe,  and  Love — best  boons  to  mortals  given — 

Waved  their  bright  wings,  and  wluspered — "Yes I  in  heaven!" 

CHARLES    MACKAT. 


MORAL     A.M»     RELIGIOUS.  221 

LXXXIII— ON  A  SURVEY  OF  THE  HEAVENS,  BEFORE 
DAY-BREAK. 

1.  Ye  many  twinkling  stars  who  yet  do  hold 
Your  brilliant  places  in  the  sable  vault 

Of  night's  dominion — planets,  and  central  orbs 

Of  other  systems ;   big  as  the  burning  sun 

Which  lights  this  nether  globe,  yet  to  our  eye 

Small  as  the  glow-worm's  lamp!   to  you  I  raise 

My  lowly  orisons,  while,  all  bewildered. 

My  vision  strays  o'er  your  ethereal  hosts  ; 

Too  vast,  too  boundless  for  our  narrow  mind, 

"Warped  with  low  prejudices,  to  unfold, 

And  sagely  comprehend — thence  higher  soaring — 

Through  ye  I  raise  my  solemn  thoughts  to  Ilim, 

The  mighty  Founder  of  this  wondrous  maze, 

The  great  Creator  1   Him !   who  now  sublime, 

Wrapt  in  the  solitary  amplitude 

Of  boundless  space,  above  the  rolling  spheres 

Sits  on  His  silent  throne,  and  meditates. 

2.  The  angelic  hosts,  in  their  inferior  heaven. 
Hymn  to  the  golden  harps  His  praise  sublime, 
Repeating  loud,  "The  Lord  oui  God  is  great l" 
In  varied  harmonies:    tne  glorious  sounds 

Roll  o'er  tlie  air  serene :    the  iEolian  spheres. 
Harping  along  their  viewless  boundaries,  / 

Catch  the  full  note,  and  cry,  "The  Lord  is  great!" 
Responding  to  the  seraphim.     O'er  all. 
From  orb  to  orb,  to  the  remotest  verge 
Of  the  created  world,  the  sound  is  borne. 
Till  the  whole  universe  is  full  of  Him. 

3.  Oh !   'tis  this  heavenly  harmony  which  now 
In  fancy  strikes  upon  my  listening  ear. 

And  thrills  my  inmost  soul.     It  bids  me  smile 
On  the  vain  world,  and  all  its  bustling  cares. 
And  gives  a  shadowy  glimpse  of  future  bliss, 
Oh  I    what  is  man,  when  at  ambition's  hight — 
What  even  are  kings,  when  balanced  in  the  scaU 
Of  these  stupendous  worlds  ?     Almighty  God ! 
Thou,  the  dread  Author  of  these  wondrous  work*  I 
Say,  canst  thou  cast  on  me,  poor  passing  worm, 
Odo  look  of  kind  benevolence  T — Thou  canst ; 


222  ELOCUTION. 

r'or  Thou  art  full  of  universal  love, 
And  in  Thy  boundless  goodness  wilt  impart 
Thy  beams  as  well  to  me  as  to  the  proud, 
The  pageant  insects  of  a  glittering  hour. 

4.  Oh !   when  reflecting  on  these  truths  sublime. 
How  insignitiuant  du  all  the  joys, 
The  gauds  and  honors  of  the  world  appear ! 
How  vain  ambition  I     Wliy  has  my  wakeful  lamp 
Outwatched  the  slow-paced  night?     Why  on  the  page 
The  schoolman's  labored  page— have  I  emuloyed 
The  hours  devoted  by  tlie  world  to  rest, 
And  needful  to  recruit  exhausted  nature? 
Say  ;   can  the  voice  of  narrow  Fame  repay 
The  loss  of  health  ?   or  can  the  hope  of  glory 
Send  a  new  throb  unto  my  languid  heart, 
Cool,  even  now,  my  feverish  aching  brow. 
Relume  the  fires  of  this  deep  sunken  eye. 
Or  paint  new  colors  on  this  pallid  cheek  ? 


K.    WHITC. 


LXXXIV.— DEFENSE  OF  PULPIT  ELOQUENCE. 

1.  It  is  sufficiently  evident  that  eloquence  has  a  strong 
influence  over  the  minds  and  passions  of  men.  I  do  not 
call  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  those  compositions  which 
filled  Athens  with  valor,  which  agitated  or  calmed,  at  the 
will  of  the  orator,  the  bosoms  of  a  thousand  warriors,  and 
which  all  nations  have  consented  to  immortalize.  The  thun- 
der, which  Demosthenes  hurled  at  the  head  of  Philip,  con- 
tinues to  roll  to  the  present  hour;  and  his  eloquence, 
stripped  as  it  is  of  action  and  utterance,  mutilated  by 
time,  and  enfeebled  by  translation,  is  yet  powerful  enough 
to  kindle  in  our  bosoms,  at  this  remote  age,  a  fire,  which 
the  hand  of  death  has  extinguished  in  the  hearts  of  those 
who  were  originally  addressed !  We  pass  over,  also,  the  elo- 
quence which  Cicero  poured  out,  in  a  torrent  so  resistless, 
that  the  awful  senate  of  Rome  could  not  withstand  its  force; 
an  eloquence  that  could  break  confederacies,  disarm  forces, 
control  anarchy — an  eloquence  that  years  can  not  impair, 
tge  can  not  weaken,  time  can  not  destroy ! 

2.  But  we   appeal  to  its  influence,   in  an  age  -?'^t  very 


MORAL   AND    RELIGIOUS.  223 

remote,  nor  very  unlike  the  present,  in  a  neighboring  coun- 
try, in  the  ministerial  profession.  The  name  of  Massillon 
was  more  attractive  than  all  the  perfumes  that  Arabia  could 
furnish;  and  this  was  the  incense  that  filled  the  churches 
of  spiritual  Babylon.  The  theater  was  forsaken,  while  the 
church  was  crowded ;  the  court  forgot  their  amusements,  to 
ittend  the  preacher;  and  his  spirit-controlling  accents  drew 
the  monarch  from  his  throne  to  his  feet,  stopped  the  impet- 
uous stream  of  dissipation,  and  compelled  the  mockinc:  world 
to  listen  ! 

3.  This  is  not  a  picture  delineated  by  fancy,  but  a  repre- 
sentation of  facts ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  no  fashionable 
amusements  had  attractions  when  the  French  bishop  was  to 
ascend  the  pulpit.  While  he  spoke,  the  king  trembled; 
while  he  denounced  the  indignation  of  God  against  a  cor- 
rupted court,  nobility  shrunk  into  nothingness;  while  he 
described  the  horrors  of  a  judgment  to  come,  infidelity 
turned  pale,  and  the  congregation,  unable  to  support  the 
thunder  of  his  language,  rose  from  their  seats  in  agony ! 
Let  these  instances  suffice  to  show  the  power  of  eloquence, 
the  influence  which  language,  well  chosen,  has  upon  the 
mind  of  man,  who  alone,  of  all  the  creatures  of  God,  is  able 
to  transmit  his  thoughts  through  the  medium  of  speech,  to 
know^  to  relish,  and  to  use  the  charms  of  language. 

4.  I  am  well  aware  that  an  argument  is  deduced  from  the 
power  of  eloquence  against  the  use  of  it  in  the  pulpit.  "It 
is  liable  to  abuse,"  say  they ;  "  it  tends  to  impose  upon  the 
understanding,  by  fascinating  the  imagination."  Most  true, 
it  is  liable  to  abuse;  and  what  is  there  so  excellent  in  its 
nature  that  is  not?  The  doctrines  of  grace  have  been  abused 
to  licentiousness;  and  the  liberty  of  Christianity  "used  as  a 
cloak  of  maliciousness."  This,  however,  is  no  refutation  of 
those  doctrines,  no  argument  against  that  liberty.  Because 
eloquence  has  been  abused,  because  it  has  served  Anti-Christ, 
or  rendered  sin  specious,  is  it,  therefore,  less  excellent  in 
itself?  or*  is  it,  for  that  reason,  to  be  rejected  from  t^e  sor- 
vice  of  holiness?  No  ;  let  it  be  employed  in  the  service  of 
God,  and  it  is  directed  to  its  noblest  ends;  it  answers  th« 
best  of  purposes  I 


224  ELOCUTION. 

5.  "  But  the  most  eloquent  are  not  always  the  most  useful 
and  God  hath  chosen  the  ignorant,  in  various  instances,  t« 
confound  the  wise."  It  is  granted.  But  does  God  uni- 
formly work  one  way  ?  When  he  sends,  it  is  by  whom  he 
will  send ;  and  he  can  qualify,  and  does  qualify  those  whom 
he  raises  up  for  himself.  He  can  give  powers  as  a  substitute 
for  literature,  and  by  his  own  energy  eflfect  that  which  elo- 
quence alone  can  not.  But  we  set  not  up  this  attainment 
against  his  energy;  we  know  that  it  is  useful  only  in  depend- 
ence upon  it.  We  know,  too,  why  the  ignorant  are  frequently 
exalted  in  the  scale  of  usefulness,  to  show  that  *'  the  power  is 
not  of  man,  but  of  God;"  and  "that  no  flesh  should  glory  in 
his  presence."  But  has  he  not  blessed  talents  also,  for  the 
same  important  purpose?  Has  he  never  employed  eloquence 
usefully?  Has  his  favor  been  uniformly  limited,  or  ever 
limited  to  the  illiterate?  Because  he  sometimes  works  with 
out  the  means,  and  apparently  in  defiance  of  the  means,  are 
we  therefore  to  lay  them  aside  ?  Who  possessed  more  advan- 
tages, or  more  eloquence,  than  the  apostle  whose  words  are  al- 
luded to  in  this  objection  ?  Did  Paul  make  a  worse  preacher 
for  being  brought  up  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel  ? 

6.  But  the  gospel  of  Jesus  disdains  such  assistance:  for 
the  apostle  says  to  the  Corinthians,  "I  came  not  to  you  with 
excellency  of  speech" — "and  my  speech,  and  my  preaching, 
was  not  with  enticing  words  of  men's  wisdom."  That  the 
gospel  of  Jesus  disdains  the  assistance  of  eloquence,  in  a 
certain  sense,  I  admit.  It  will  not  accept  of  any  thing  as 
its  support.  It  stands  upon  its  own  inherent  excellence, 
and  spurns  all  extraneous  aid.  It  is  a  sun  absorbing  every 
surrounding  luminary.  Its  beauty  eclipses  every  charm 
brought  in  comparison  with  it.  Yet,  is  this  a  reason  why 
in  enforcing  its  glorious  truths  upon  our  fellow-men,  we 
should  disdain  assistance  which,  although  it  aids  not  the 
gospel,  is  useful  to  them? 

7.  Follow  the  opposite  principle,  and  lay  aside  preaching 
The  gospel  approves  itself  to  the  conscience;  evepy  attempt 
to  illustrate  and  enforce  it  is  useless,  when  applied  to  the 
truth  itself,  for  it  can  not  be  rendered  more  excellent  than 
it  is:  yet  it  may  be  rendered  more  perspicuous  to  our  fellow- 


MORAL   AND   RELIGIOUS.  221 

men  ;  it  ueeds  enforcing  as  it  regards  them ;  and  preaching 
has  been  instituted  by  God  himself  for  that  express  purpose. 
So  eloquence  can  not  render  assistance  to  the  gospel  itself; 
but  may  be  useful  to  those  who  attend  it.  True  eloquence 
has  for  its  object,  not  merely  to  please,  but  to  render  lumin- 
ous the  subject  discussed,  and  to  reach  the  hearts  of  those 
roncerncd. 

8.  We  live  in  a  day  when  it  becomea  us  to  be  equal  eve.*j 
way  to  our  adversaries.  This  we  can  never  be,  if  we  cherish 
a  contempt  for  liberal  science.  Infidelity  lifls  her  standard, 
and  advances,  with  daring  front,  to  "defy  the  armies  of  the 
living  God."  Distinguished  talents  rally  Rround  her  ensign. 
The  charms  of  eloquence,  the  force  of  reason,  the  majesty 
of  literature,  the  light  of  science,  are  all  enlisted  under  her 
banner;  are  all  opposed  to  the  "truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus."  Let 
us,  in  reliance  upon  Divine  aid,  meet  them  upon  equal  terms, 
contend  with  them  on  their  own  ground,  turp  against  them 
their  own  weapons.  Let  us  meet  them  in  the  plain,  or  upon 
the  mountain  ;  let  us  ascend  to  their  elevation,  or  stoop  to 
their  level.  Let  us  oppose  science  to  science,  eloquence  to 
eloquence,  light  to  light,  energy  to  energy.  Let  us  prove 
that  we  are  their  equals  in  intellect,  their  colleagues  in  lite- 
rature: but  that,  in  addition  to  this,  "One  is  our  master, 
even  Christ" — that  we  have  "  a  more  sure  word  of  prophecy  " 
— and  that  our  light  borrowed  from  the  fountain  of  illumina- 
tion, will  shine  with  undiminished  luster,  when  their  lamp, 
fed  only  by  perishable,  precarious  supplies,  shall  be  forever 
extinguished  ! 


LXX XV.— POETICAL  SELECTIONS. 
1. — THE   HEAVENLY   CANAAN. 

1.  Til  EKE  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 

Whflre  Kaints  immortal  reigft  ; 
Eternal  day  excludes  the  night, 
And  pleasures  banish  pnin. 

2.  There  everlanting  spring  abides. 

And  never-fading  flowers ; 
Death,  like  a  narrow  sea,  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 


22b  ELOCUTION. 

3.  S^reot  fields,  beyond  the  swelling  flood. 

Stand  dressed  in  living  green: 
So  to  the  Jews  fair  Canaan  stood, 

Wlnle  Jordan  rolled  between. 

4.  But  timorous  mortals  start  and  shrink, 

To  cross  this  narrow  sea; 
And  linger,  trembling  on  the  brink, 
And  fear  to  launch  away. 

5.  Oh  I  could  we  make  our  doubts  remove, 

Those  gloomy  doubts  that  rise, 
And  see  the  Canaan  that  we  love 
With  un  beclouded  eyes  ; — 

6.  Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood. 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 
Not  Jordan's  stream — nor  death's  cold  flood. 
Should  fright  us  from  the  shore.  WAm 

2. — GRATITUDE. 

1.  When  all  thy  mercies,  0  my  God, 

My  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view,  I'm  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

2.  Unnumbered  comforts  to  my  soul 

Thy  tender  care  bestowed. 
Before  my  infant  heart  conceived 
From  whom  those  comforts  flowed. 

3.  When  in  the  slippery  paths  of  youth 

With  heedless  steps  I  ran. 
Thine  arm,  unseen,  conveyed  me  safe. 
And  led  me  up  to  man. 

4.  Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 

My  daily  thanks  employ ; 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart. 
That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy 

5.  Through  every  period  of  my  life, 

Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue ; 
And  after  death,  in  distant  worlds. 
The  glorious  theme  renew. 


MORAL   AND    RELIGIOUS.  227 

6.  Through  all  eternity,  to  theo 
A  joyful  song  I'll  raise  : 
But  oh  !   eternity's  too  short 
To  utter  all  thy  praise  I  addiso.v 


LXXXVL— INFIDELITY  TESTED. 

1.  We  might  ask  the  patrons  of  infidelity,  what  fury 
impels  them  to  attempt  the  subversion  of  Christianity?  Is 
it  that  they  have  discovered  a  better  system  ?  To  what  vir- 
tues are  their  principles  favorable  ?  Or  is  there  one  which 
Christians  have  not  carried  to  a  higher  than  any  of  which 
their  party  can  boast?  Have  they  discovered  a  more  excel- 
lent rule  of  life,  or  a  better  hope  in  death,  than  that  which 
the  Scriptures  suggest?  Above  all,  what  are  the  pretensions 
on  which  they  rest  their  claims  to  be  the  guides  of  mankind, 
or  which  emboldened  them  to  expect  we  should  trample  on 
the  experience  of  ages,  and  abandon  a  religion  which  has 
been  attest<^d  by  a  train  of  miracles  and  prophecies,  in  which 
millions  of  our  forefathers  have  found  a  refuge  in  every 
trouble,  and  consolation  in  the  hour  of  death  ;  a  religion 
which  has  been  adorned  with  the  highest  sanctity  of  char- 
acter and  splendor  of  talents ;  which  =nrols  among  its  dis- 
ciples the  names  of  Bacon,  Newton,  and  Locke,  the  glory 
of  their  species,  and  to  which  these  illustrious  men  were 
proud  to  dedicate  the  last  and  best  fruits  of  their  immortal 
genius. 

2.  If  the  question  at  issue  is  to  be  decided  by  argument,  ■ 
nothing  can  be  added  to  the  triumph  of  Christianity ;  if  by 
an  appeal  to  authority,  what  have  our  adversaries  to  oppose 
to  these  great  names?  Where  are  the  infidels  of  such  pure, 
uncontaminatcd  morals,  unshaken  probity,  and  extended 
benevolence,  that  we  should  be  in  no  danger  of  being 
seduced  into  impiety  by  their  example?  Into  what  obscure 
recesses  of  misery,  into  what  dungeons,  have  their  philan- 
thropists penetrated,  to  lighten  the  fetters  and  relieve  the 
sorrows  of  the  helpless  captive?  What  barbarous  tribes 
have  their  apostles  visited?  What  distant  climes  have  they 
explored,  encompassed  with  cold,  nakedness,  and  want,  to 


228  ELOCUTION. 

diffuse  principles  of  virtue  and  the  blessings  of  civilization  ? 
Or  will  they  choose  to  waive  thoir  pretensions  to  this  extra- 
ordinary, and  in  their  eyes  eccentric  species  of  benevolence, 
and  rest  their  character  on  their  political  exploits ;  on  their 
efforts  to  re'dnimate  the  virtues  of  a  sinking  state,  to  restrain 
licentiousness,  to  calm  the  tumult  of  popular  fury ;  and,  by 
inculcating  the  spirit  of  justice,  moderation  and  pity  for 
fallen  greatness,  to  mitigate  the  inevitable  horrors  of  revo- 
lution? Our  adversaries  will,  at  least,  have  the  discretion, 
if  not  the  modesty  to  recede  from  this  test. 

3.  More  than  all,  their  infatuated  eagerness,  their  parrici- 
dal zeal,  to  extinguish  a  sense  of  Deity,  must  excite  aston- 
ishment and  horror.  Is  the  idea  of  an  almighty  and  perfect 
ruler  unfriendly  to  any  passion  which  is  consistent  with 
innocence,  or  an  obstruction  to  any  design  which  is  not 
shameful  to  avow  ? 

4.  Eternal  God!  on  what  are  thine  enemies  intent? 
What  are  those  enterprises  of  guilt  and  horror,  that,  for 
the  safety  of  their  performers,  require  to  be  enveloped  in  a 
darkness  which  the  eye  of  Heaven  must  not  pierce?  Miser- 
able men  ! — proud  of  being  the  offspring  of  chance  ;  in  love 
with  universal  disorder ;  whose  happiness  is  involved  in  the 
belief  of  there  being  no  witness  to  their  designs,  and  who 
are  at  ease  only  because  they  suppose  themselves  inhabi- 
tants of  a  forsaken  and  fatherless  world ! 


LXXXVn.— RELIGION  THE  ONLY  BASIS  OF  SOCIETY. 

1.  Few  men  suspect,  perhaps  no  man  comprehends  tho 
extent  of  the  support  given  by  religion  to  every  virtue.  No 
man,  perhaps,  is  aware  how  much  our  moral  and  social  sen- 
timents are  fed  from  this  fountain ;  how  powerless  con 
science  would  become  without  the  belief  of  a  God ;  how  pal- 
sied  would  be  human  benevolence,  were  there  not  the  sense 
of  a  higher  benevolence  to  quicken  and  sustain  it ;  how 
suddenly  the  whole  social  fabric  would  quake,  and  with  what 
a  fearful  crash  it  would  sink  into  hopeless  ruin,  were  the 
ideas  of  a  supreme  being,  of  accountableness,  and  of  a  future 
life,  to  be  utterly  erased  from  every  mind. 


MORAL    AN!'    RELIGIOUS.  lilii* 

2.  And  let  men  thoroughly  bSlieve  that  they  are  the  work 
and  sport  of  chance ;  that  no  superior  intelligence  concerns 
itself  with  human  affairs;  that  all  their  improvements  perish 
for  over  at  death  ;  that  the  weak  have  no  guardian,  and  the 
injured  no  avenger;  that  there  is  no  recompense  for  sacri- 
fices to  uprightness  and  the  public  good ;  that  an  oath  is 
anheard  in  heaven  ;  that  secret  crimes  have  no  witness  but 
the  perpitrator;  that  human  existence  has  no  purpose,  and 
human  virtue  no  unfailing  friend;  that  this  brief  life  is 
every  thing  tu  us,  and  death  is  total,  everlasting  extinction; 
once  let  them  thoroughly  abandon  religion  ;  and  who  can 
conceive  or  describe  the  extent  of  the  desolation  which 
would  follow  1 

3.  We  hope,  perhaps,  that  human  laws  and  natural  sym- 
pathy would  hold  society  together.  As  reasonably  might 
we  believe,  that,  were  the  sun  quenched  in  the  heavens,  our 
torches  would  illuminate,  and  our  fires  quicken  and  fertilize 
the  creation.  What  is  there  in  human  nature  to  awaken 
respect  and  tenderness,  if  man  is  the  unprotected  insect  of 
a  day?     And  what  is  he  more,  if  atheism  be  true? 

4.  Krase  all  thought  and  fear  of  God  from  a  community, 
and  selfishness  and  sensuality  would  absorb  the  whole  man. 
Appetite,  knowing  no  restraint;  and  suffering,  having  no 
solace  or  hope,  would  trample  in  scorn  on  the  restraints  of 
human  laws.  Virtue,  duty,  principle,  would  be  mocked,  and 
spurned  as  unmeaning  sounds.  A  sordid  self-interest  would 
supplant  every  other  feeling,  and  man  would  become,  in  fact, 
what  the  theory  of  atheism  declares  him  to  be — a  com- 
panion for  brutes.  w.  e.  channinq.    - 


LXXXVni.— THE  CELESTIAL  ARMY. 

1  I     TooD  by  the  open  casement, 

And  looked  upon  the  night, 
And  .-;i\v  the  westward-going  stars 
Tass  slowly  out  of  sight. 

2  Slowly  the  bright  procession 

Went  down  the  gleaming  arch, 
And  my  soul  discerned  the  music 
Of  their  lung  triumphant  march, 


230  ELOCUTION. 

3.  Till  the  great  celestial  army, 

Stretching  far  beyond  the  poles. 
Became  the  eternal  symbol 
Of  the  mighty  march  of  souls. 

4.  Onward  1  forever  onward, 

Red  Mars  led  down  his  clan. 
And  the  moon,  like  a  mailed  maiden, 
Was  riding  in  the  van. 

6.  And  some  were  bri;;ht  in 

And  some  were  faint  and  feinall — 
But  these  might  be  in  their  great  hight, 
The  noblest  of 

6.  Downward  !   forever  downward, 
Behind  earth's  dusky  shore. 
They  passed  into  the  unknown  night — 
They  passed,  and  were  no  more. 

7    "NTm  ni,.r.%'     Ct   a-xj  not  so! 

1  is  not  just; 
rur  uio  iyigin  IS  weak  and  the  sense  is  dim 
That  looks  through  the  heated  dust 

8.  Tl  lid  the  mailed  moon, 

luougii  they  seem  to  fall  and  die, 
Still  sweep  with  their  embattled  lines 

An  endless  reach  of  sky. 

9.  And  though  the  hills  of  death 

M;iy  hide  the  bright  array, 
The  marshaled  brotherhood  of  souls 
Still  keeps  its  upward  way. 

10.  Upward !   forever  upward  ! 

I  see  their  march  sublime. 

And  hear  the  glorious  music 

Of  the  conquerors  of  time. 

11.  And  long  let  me  remember, 

That  the  palest  fainting  one, 
May  unto  Divine  wisdom  be 
A  bright  and  blazing  sun. 


;  D   R  E  L  I  0  1 0  U  s .  231 

LXXXIX.— THE  PROMISES  OF  RELIGION  TO  THE  YOUNG. 

1.  In  every  part  of  Scripture,  it  is  remarkable  with  what 
singular  tenderness  the  season  of  youth  is  always  men- 
tioned, and  what  hopes  are  oflfered  to  the  devotion  of  the 
young.  It  was  at  that  age  that  God  appeared  unto  Moses 
when  he  fed  his  flock  in  the  desert,  and  called  him  to  the 
command  of  his  own  people.  It  was  at  that  age  he  visited 
the  infant  Samuel,  while  he  ministered  in  the  temple  of 
the  Lord,  "  in  days  when  the  word  of  the  Lord  was  precious, 
and  when  there  was  no  open  vision."  It  was  at  that  age 
that  his  spirit  fell  upon  David,  while  he  was  yet  the  young- 
est of  his  father's  sons,  and  when  among  the  mountains  of 
Bethlehem  he  fed  his  father's  sheep. 

2.  It  was  at  that  age,  also,  that  they  brought  young  chil- 
dren unto  Christ  that  he  should  touch  them  ;  and  his  dis- 
ciples rebuked  those  that  brought  them.  But  when  Jesus 
saw  it,  he  was  much  displeased,  and  said  to  them,  "  Suffer 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven."  If  these,  then,  are 
the  effects  and  promises  of  youth  and  piety,  rejoice,  0 
young  man,  in  thy  youth  1 — rejoice  in  those  days  which  are 
never  to  return,  when  religion  comes  to  thee  in  all  its 
charms,  and  when  the  God  of  nature  reveals  himself  to  thy 
soul,  like  the  mild  radiance  of  the  morning  sun,  when  he 
rises  amid  the  blessings  of  a  grateful  world. 

3.  If  already  Devotion  hath  taught  thee  her  secret  pleas- 
ures ;  if,  when  Nature  meets  thee  in  all  its  magnificence  or 
beauty,  thy  heart  humbleth  itself  in  adoration  before  the 
hand  which  made  it,  and  rcjoiecth  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  wisdom  by  which  it  is  maintained  ;  if,  when  Revelation 
unvaiU  her  mercies,  and  the  Son  of  God  comes  forth  to 
give  peace  and  hope  to  fallen  man,  thine  eye  follows  with 
astonishment  the  glories  of  his  path,  and  pours  at  last  over 
his  cross  those  pious  tears  which  it  is  a  delight  to  shed ;  if 
thy  soul  accompanieth  him  in  his  triumph  over  the  grave, 
and  entereth  on  the  wings  of  faith  into  that  heaven  "  whcrn 
he  sat  down  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  High," 
and  Bceth  the  '•  society  of  angels  and  of  the  spirits  of  ju^t 
men  made  perfect,"  and  listeneth  to  the  *'  everlasting  song 


232  ELOCUIION. 

which  is  sung  before  the  throne ;"  if  such  are  the  medita- 
tions in  which  thy  youthful  hours  are  passed,  renounce  not, 
for  all  that  life  can  oflfer  thee  in  exchange,  these  solitary 
joys.  The  world  which  is  before  thee — the  world  which 
thine  imagination  paints  in  such  brightness — has  no  pleas- 
ures to  bestow  which  can  compare  with  these  ;  and  all  that 
its  boasted  wisdom  can  produce  has  nothing  so  acceptable 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  as  this  pure  offering  of  thy  in- 
fant soul. 

4.  In  these  days,  '*  the  Lur«l  hiiu-un  k-,  ihy  shepherd,  and 
thou  dost  not  want.  Amid  the  green  pastures,  and  by  the 
still  waters  "  of  youth,  he  now  makes  "  thy  soul  to  repose." 
But  the  years  draw  nigh,  when  life  shall  call  thee  to  its 
trials ;  the  evil  days  are  on  the  wing,  when  "  thou  shalt  say 
thou  hast  no  pleasure  in  them  ;"  and,  as  thy  steps  advance, 
"  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  opens,"  through  which 
thou  must  pass  at  last.  It  is  then  thou  shalt  know  what  it 
is  to  "  remember  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth." 
In  these  days  of  trial  or  of  awe,  "  his  spirit  shall  be  with 
thee,"  and  thou  shalt  fear  no  ill  ;  and,  amid  every  evil  that 
surrounds  thee,  "  he  shall  restore  thy  soul.  His  goodness 
and  mercy  shall  follow  thee  all  the  days  of  thy  life  ;"  and 
when  at  last  "  the  silver  cord  is  loosed,  thy  spirit  shall  re- 
turn to  the  God  who  gave  it,  and  thou  shalt  dwell  in  tho 
house  of  the  Lord  forever."  alison. 


SENATORIAL.  233 


SENATORIAL 


XC— SriRlT  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION. 

1.  Be  not  deceived,  my  countrymen.  Believe  not  these 
venal  hirelings,  when  they  would  cajole  you  by  their  sub- 
tiltics  into  submission,  or  frighten  you  by  their  vaporinga 
into  compliance.  When  they  strive  to  flatter  you  by  the 
terms  "  moderation  and  prudence,"  tell  them  that  calmness 
and  deliberation  are  to  guide  the  judgment ;  courage  and 
intrepidity  command  the  action.  When  they  endeavor  to 
make  us  "  perceive  our  inability  to  oppose  our  mother 
country,"  let  us  boldly  answer — In  defence  of  our  civil  and 
religious  rights,  we  dare  oppose  the  world  ;  with  the  God 
of  armies  on  our  side,  even  the  God  who  fought  our  father's 
battles,  we  fear  not  the  hour  of  trial,  though  the  hosts  of 
our  enemies  should  cover  the  field  like  locusts.  If  this  be 
enthusiasm,  we  will  live  and  die  enthusiasts. 

2.  Blandishments  will  not  fascinate  us,  nor  will  threats 
of  a  "  halter  "  intimidate.  For,  under  God,  we  are  deter- 
mined, that  wheresoever,  whensoever,  or  howsoever  we  shall 
bo  called  to  make  our  exit,  we  will  die  freemen.  Well  do 
we  know  that  all  the  regalia  of  this  world  can  not  dignify 
the  death  of  a  villain,  nor  diminish  the  ignominy,  with  which 
a  slave  shall  quit  existence.  Neither  can  it  taint  the  un- 
blemished honor  of  a  son  of  freedom,  though  he  should 
make  his  departure  on  the  already  prepared  gibbet,  or  be 
dragged  to  the  newly  erected  scaffold  for  execution.  With 
the  plaudits  of  his  country,  and  what  is  more,  the  plaudits' 
of  his  conscience,  he  will  go  off  the  stage.  The  history  of 
his  life,  his  children  shall  venerate.  The  virtues  of  their 
sires  shall  excite  their  emulation. 

3.  Who  has  the  front  to  ask.  Wherefore  do  you  com- 
plain  ?  Who  dares  assert,  that  every  thing  worth  living  foi 
is  not  lost,  when  a  nation  is  enslaved?  Are  not  pension- 
ers, stipendiaries,  and  salary-men,  unknown  before,  hourly 
multiplying   upon    u<     to  liuf    in    the    sjoils    «.r   miserabla 

Kinn  — 20 


234  ELOCUTION 

America  ?  Docs  not  every  eastern  gale  waft  us  some  new 
insect,  even  of  that  devouring  kind  which  eat  up  every 
green  thing  ?  Is  not  the  bread  taken  out  of  the  children's 
mouths  and  given  unto  the  dogs?  Are  not  our  estates  given 
to  corrupt  sycophants,  without  a  design,  or  even  a  pretense 
of  soliciting  our  assent;  and  our  lives  put  into  tlie  hands 
of  those  whose  tender  mercies  are  cruelties?  Has  not  an 
authority  in  a  distant  land,  in  the  most  public  manner  pro- 
claimed a  right  of  disposing  of  the  all  of  Americans?  In 
short,  what  have  we  to  lose  ?  What  have  we  to  fear  ?  Are 
not  our  distresses  more  than  we  can  bear?  And,  to  finish 
all,  are  not  our  cities,  in  a  time  of  profound  peace,  filled  with 
standing  armies,  to  preclude  from  us  that  last  solace  of  the 
wretched — to  open  their  mouths  in  complaint,  and  send  forth 
their  cries  in  bitterness  of  heart  ? 

4.  But  is  there  no  ray  of  hope  ?  Is  not  Great  Britain  in- 
habited by  the  children  of  those  renowned  barons,  who 
waded  through  seas  of  crimson  gore  to  establish  their  lib- 
erty? and  will  they  not  allow  us,  their  fellow  men,  to  enjoy 
that  freedom  which  we  claim  from  nature,  which  is  con- 
firmed by  our  constitution,  and  which  they  pretend  so 
highly  to  value?  Were  a  tyrant  to  conquer  us,  the  chains 
of  slavery,  when  opposition  should  become  useless,  might 
be  supportable;  but  to  be  shackled  by  Englishmen — by 
our  equals — is  not  to  be  borne.  By  the  sweat  of  our  brow 
we  earn  the  little  we  possess;  from  nature  we  derive  the 
common  rights  of  man  ;  and  by  charter  we  claim  the  lib- 
erties of  Britons.  Shall  we,  dare  we,  pusillanimously  sur- 
render our  birthright?  Is  the  obligation  to  our  fathers  dis- 
charged? Is  the  debt  we  owe  posterity  paid?  Answer  me, 
thou  coward,  who  mdest  thyself  in  the  hour  of  trial !  If 
there  is  no  reward  in  this  life,  no  prize  of  glory  in  the 
next,  capable  of  animating  thy  dastar4  soul,  think  and  trem- 
ble, thou  miscreant !  at  the  whips  and  stripes  thy  master 
shall  lash  thee  with  on  earth — and  the  flames  and  scorpions 
thy  second  master  shall  torment  thee  with  hereafter  ! 

5.  Oh  my  countrymen  !  what  will  our  children  say,  when 
they  read  the  history  of  these  times,  should  they  find  that  we 
tamely  gave  way,  without  one  noble  struggle  for  the  most 


SENATORIAL.  285 

Invaluable  of  earthly  blessings  I  As  they  drag  the  galling 
chain,  will  they  not  execrate  us?  If  we  have  any  respect 
for  things  sacred,  any  regard  to  the  dearest  treasure  on 
earth;  if  we  have  one  tender  sentiment  for  posterity;  if 
we  would  not  be  despised  by  the  whole  world ;  let  us,  in  the 
most  open,  solemn  manner,  and  with  determined  fortitude, 
swear — we  will  die,  if  we  can  not  live  freemen.  While  we 
have  equity,  justice,  and  God  on  our  side,  tyranny,  spirit- 
ual or  temporal,  shall  never  ride  triumphant  in  a  land  in- 
habited by  Englishmen.  josiah  quincy. 


XCL— ON  REFORM  IN  PARLIAMENT. 

1.  My  Lords, — I  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  measure  re- 
commended upon  principle,  consistent  in  its  form,  and  cer- 
tainly proceeding  upon  an  anxious  wish  to  restore,  and  not 
to  destroy — to  improve,  and  not  to  impair — is  to  be  at  once 
cried  down  and  abandoned,  because  it  happens  to  enjoy  the 
additional  quality — I  will  not  call  it  a  recommendation — 
that  it  is  honestly  and  sincerely  greeted  with  approbation 
by  a  large  body  of  his  majesty's  subjects. 

2.  But  if  it  is  said  that  I  am  talking  of  the  people,  and 
not  of  a  few  agitators,  then  I  say  I  am  also  yet  to  learn 
that  a  measure  recommended  by  its  own  merits,  good  in 
principle,  and  having  the  additional  accident — I  will  not 
call  it  a  recommendation,  though  I  think  it  to  be  one — of 
being  universally,  and  in  an  unprecedented  degree,  the  fa- 
vorite of  the  people  of  England,  is  at  once  to  be  set  aside, 
and  at  once  to  be  condemned  and  rejected,  because  it  pos- 
sesses the  additional  accident — again  I  will  not  call  it  a 
recommendation,  but  an  accident — of  pacifying  even  that 
portion  of  our  fellow-subjects,  which,  as  has  been  men- 
tioned in  this  house,  no  exertion  of  human  power  caa 
satisfy. 

3.  Still,  my  loi  not  call  upon  you  to  adopt  this 
measure  because  it  happens  to  be  consistent  with  popular 
feelings ;  I  do  not  call  upon  you  to  adopt  it  upon  that  ac- 
count ;  but  I  am  persuaded,  that  if  this  measure  be  rejected, 
you  will  bring  the  security  of  tthc  country,  the  peace  of  hia 


236  ELOCUTION. 

roajestT,  the  stability  of  our  ancient  constitution,  and  the 
whole  frame  of  society,  from  Cornwall  to  Sutherland — Ire- 
land as  well  as  England — into  a  state  of  jeopardy,  which  I 
earnestly  pray  to  heaven  may  never  come  to  pass. 

4.  My  lords,  I  do  not  wish  to  use  the  language  of  threats ; 
Dut  I  recollect,  and  history  has  recorded  the  fact,  that 
when  the  great  Earl  of  Chatham  was  addressing  our  most 
serene  ancestors  within  these  walls,  when  he  was  shaking 
them  with  his  magnificent  oratory,  he  suflfered  the  lightning 
of  his  eloquence  to  smite  the  enemies  of  reform  by  menac- 
ing them  with  the  dangers  that  must  attend  an  attempt  to 
withhold  from  the  people  their  just  rights;  and  I  well  re- 
member that  that  was  deemed  no  insult  by  those  who  heard 
him,  but  was  considered  honorable,  highly  honorable,  to 
him  who  had  the  boldness  to  utter  that  denunciation.  For 
my  own  part,  all  that  I  will  venture  to  do,  in  this  latter 
day  of  eloquence  and  of  talent,  standing  in  the  honorable 
situation  which  I  do  in  this  house  and  in  the  country,  is 
to  call  upon  your  lordships  to  reflect,  and  believe  that  the 
thunders  of  heaven  are  sometimes  heard  to  roll  in  the  voice 
of  a  united  people  !  H.  brougham. 


XCII.— REPLY  OF  MR.  PITT. 

1.  The  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which, 
with  so  much  spirit  and  decency,  the  honorable  gentleman 
has  charged  upon  me,  I  shall  neither  attempt  to  palliate 
nor  deny ;  but  content  myself  with  wishing,  that  I  may  be 
one  of  those  whose  follies  cease  with  their  youth  ;  and  not 
of  that  number  who  are  ignorant  in  spite  of  experience, 

2.  Whether  youth  can  be  imputed  to  any  man  as  a  re- 
proach, I  will  not  assume  the  province  of  determining;  but, 
surely,  age  may  become  justly  contemptible,  if  the  oppor- 
tunities which  it  brings,  have  passed  away  without  improve- 
ment, and  vice  appears  to  prevail  when  the  passions  have 
subsided. 

3.  The  wretch  that,  after  having  seen  the  consequences 
of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still  to  blunder,  and  whose 
age  has  only  added  obstinacy  to  stupidity,  is  surely  the  ob- 


SENATORIAL.  237 

ject  of  either  abhorrence  or  contempt;  and  deserves  not 
that  his  gray  head  should  screen  him  from  insults.  Much 
more  is  he  to  be  abhorred,  who,  as  he  has  advanced  in  age, 
has  receded  from  virtue,  and  becomes  more  wicked,  with  less 
temptation  : — who  prostitutes  himself  for  money  which  he 
can  not  enjoy,  and  spends  the  remains  of  his  life  in  the  ruin 
of  his  country. 

4.  But  youth  is  not  my  only  crime.  I  have  been  accused 
of  acting  a  theatrical  part.  A  theatrical  part  may  imply, 
either  some  peculiarities  of  gesture,  or  a  dissimulation  of 
my  real  sentiments,  and  an  adoption  of  the  opinions  and 
language  of  another  man. 

5.  In  the  first  sense,  the  charge  is  too  trifling  to  be  con- 
futed ;  and  deserves  only  to  be  mentioned,  that  it  may  bo 
despised.  I  am  at  liberty — like  every  other  man — to  use  my 
own  language :  and  though  I  may  perhaps,  have  some  am- 
bition, yet,  to  please  this  gentleman,  I  shall  not  lay  myself 
under  any  restraint,  or  very  solicitously  copy  his  diction, 
or  his  mien,  however  matured  by  age,  or  modeled  by  ex- 
perience. If,  by  charging  me  with  theatrical  behavior,  any 
man  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  utter  any  sentiments  but  my 
own,  I  shall  treat  him  as  a  calumniator  and  a  villain  :  nor 
shall  any  protection  shelter  him  from  the  treatment  which 
he  deserves.  On  such  an  occasion,  I  shall,  without  scruple, 
trample  upon  all  those  forms  with  which  wealth  and  dignity 
intrench  themselves  ;  nor  shall  any  thing  but  age,  restrain 
my  resentment: — age,  which  always  brings  one  privilege — 
that  of  being  insolent  and  superciJious  without  punishment. 

G.  But,  with  regard  to  those  whom  I  have  offended,  I  am 
of  opinion,  that,  had  I  acted  a  borrower!  part,  I  should  have 
avoided  their  censure.  The  heat  that  offended  them,  is  the 
ardor  of  conviction,  and  that  zeal  for  the  service  of  my 
country,  which  neither  hope,  nor  fear,  shall  influence  mo  :3 
suppress.  I  will  not  sit  unconcerned,  while  my  liberty  la 
invaded;  nor  look  in  silence  upon  public  robbery.  I  will 
exert  my  endeavors,  at  whatever  hazard,  to  repel  the  ag- 
gressor, and  drag  the  thief  to  justice — what  power  soever 
may  protect  the  villainy,  and  whoever  may  partake  of  th« 

pluTld'T  W.M.     IMTT. 


238  ELOCUTION. 

XCIIl— AMERICAN  LABORERS. 
1.  The  gentleman,  sir,  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and 
tendency  of  Northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of 
Northern  character.  He  has  forgotten  the  history  of  his 
country.  Preach  insurrection  to  the  Northern  labrrers  I 
Who  are  the  Northern  laborers?  The  history  of  your 
country  is  their  history.  The  renown  of  your  country  is 
their  renown.  The  brightness  of  their  doings  is  embla 
zoned  on  its  every  page.  Blot  from  your  annals  the  words 
and  the  doings  of  Northern  laborers,  and  the  history  of 
your  country  presents  but  a  universal  blank.  Sir,  who  was 
he  that  disarmed  the  Thunderer ;  wrested  from  his  grasp  the 
bolts  of  Jove;  calmed  the  troubled  ocean;  became  the  cen- 
tral sun  of  the  philosophical  system  of  his  age,  shedding  his 
brightness  and  effulgence  on  the  whole  civilized  world ; 
whom  the  great  and  mighty  of  the  earth  delighted  to 
honor;  who  participated  in  the  achievement  of  your  inde- 
pendence, projninently  assisted  in  molding  your  free  insti- 
tutions,  and  the  beneficial  eflfects  of  whose  wisdom  will  be 
felt  to  the  last  moment  of  "recorded  time?"  Who,  sir,  I 
ask,  was  he?  A  Northern  laborer — a  Yankee  tallow-chan- 
dler's son — a  printer's  runaway  boy ! 

2.  And  who,  let  me  ask  the  honorable  gentleman,  who 
was  he  that,  in  the  days  of  our  Revolution,  led  forth  a 
Northern  army — yes,  an  army  of  Northern  laborers — and 
aided  the  chivalry  of  South  Carolina  in  their  defense  against 
British  aggression,  drove  the  spoilers  from  their  firesides, 
and  redeemed  her  fair  fields  from  foreign  invaders?  Who 
was  he?  A  Northern  laborer,  a  Rhode  Island  blacksmith — 
the  gallant  General  Green — who  left  his  hammer  and  his 
forge,  and  went  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer  in  the  bat- 
tle for  our  independence !  And  will  you  preach  insurrec- 
tion to  men  like  these? 

3.  Sir,  our  country  is  full  of  the  achievements  of  North- 
ern laborers!  Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and 
Princeton,  and  Trenton,  and  Saratoga,  and  Bunker  Hill, 
but  in  the  North  ?  And  what,  sir,  has  shed  an  imperisha- 
ble renown  on  the  never-dying  names  of  those  hallowed 
spots,  but  the  blood  and  the  struggles,  the  high  daring,  and 


SENATORIAL.  239 

patriotism,  and  sublime  courage  of  Northern  laborers  ? 
The  whole  North  is  an  everlasting  monument  of  the  free- 
dom, virtue,  intelligence,  and  indomitable  independence  of 
Northern  laborers !  Go,  sir,  go  preach  insurrection  to  men 
like  these ! 

4.  The  fortitude  of  the  men  of  the  North,  under  intonsa 
suflfering  for  liberty's  sake,  has  been  almost  god-like  !  His- 
tory has  so  recorded  it.  Who  comprised  that  gallant  army^ 
without  food,  without  pay,  shelterless,  shoeless,  penniless, 
and  almost  naked,  in  that  dreadful  winter — the  midnight 
of  our  Revolution — whose  wanderings  could  be  traced  by 
their  blood-tracks  in  the  snow ;  whom  no  arts  could  seduce, 
no  appeal  lead  astray,  no  sufferings  disafi'ect ;  but  who,  true 
to  their  country  and  its  holy  cause,  continued  to  fight  the 
good  tight  of  liberty,  until  it  finally  triumphed?  Who, 
sir,  were  these  men?  Why,  Northern  laborers! — yes,  sir, 
Northern  laborers  I  Who,  sir,  were  lloger  Sherman  and  — . 
But  it  is  idle  to  enumerate.  To  name  the  Northern  labor- 
ers who  have  distinguished  themselves,  and  illustrated  the 
history  of  their  country,  would  require  days  of  the  time  of 
this  house.  Nor  is  it  necessary.  Posterity  will  do  them 
justice.  Their  deeds  have  been  recorded  in  characters 
of  fire.!  c.  c.  naylor. 


XCIV.— EXTRACT  FROM  THE  LAST  SPEECH  OF  ROBERT 
EMMET. 

1.  I  HAVE  been  charged  with  that  importance  in  the  ef- 
forts to  emancipate  my  country,  as  to  be  considered  the  key- 
stone o^  the  combination  of  Irishmen,  or,  as  your  lordship 
expressed  it,  "the  life  and  blood  of  the  conspiracy."  You 
do  me  honor  over-much  :  you  have  given  to  the  subaltern 
all  the  credit  of  a  supe;-ior.  There  are  men  engaged  in  this 
conspiracy,  who  are  not  only  superior  to  me,  but  even  to 
your  own  conceptions  of  yourself,  my  lord  ;  men,  before  the 
splendor  of  whose  genius  and  virtues,  I  .should  bow  with 
respectful  deference,  and  who  would  think  themselves  dis 
honored  to  bo  called  your  friend — who  would  not  disgrace 
themselves  by  shakinu  your  blood-stiined  hand. 


240  ELOCOTION. 

2.  What,  my  lord,  shall  you  tell  me,  on  the  passage  to 
that  scafl'old,  which  that  tyranny,  of  which  you  arc  only  the 
intcrmed-ary  executioner,  has  erected  for  my  murder,  that  1 
am  accountahle  for  all  the  blood  that  has  been,  and  will  be 
shed,  in  this  struggle  of  the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor? 
Shall  you  tell  mc  this,  and  must  I  be  so  very  a  slave  as  not 
to  repel  it?  I  do  not  fear  to  approach  the  omnipotent 
Judge,  to  answer  for  the  conduct  of  my  whole  life ;  and  am 
[  to  be  appalled  and  falsified  by  a  mere  remnant  of  mor- 
tality here?  by  you,  too,  who,  if  it  were  possible  to  collect 
all  the  innocent  blood  that  you  have  shed  in  your  unhal- 
lowed ministry,  in  one  great  reservoir,  your  lordship  might 
swim  in  it. 

.*>.  Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  me  with 
dishonor!  let  no  man  attaint  my  memory,  by  believing  thai 
[  could  have  engaged  in  any  cause  but  that  of  my  country's 
liberty  and  independence;  or,  that  I  could  have  become  the 
pliant  minion  of  power,  in  the  oppression,  or  the  miseries, 
of  my  countrymen.  The  proclamation  of  the  provisional 
government  speaks  forth  our  views;  no  inference  can  be  tor- 
tured from  it,  to  countenance  barbarity,  or  debasement  at 
home,  or  subjection,  humiliation,  or  treachery  from  abroad. 
I  would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign  invader,  for  thp  same 
reason  that  I  would  resist  the  foreign  and  domestic  oppres- 
sor; in  the  dignity  of  freedom,  I  would  have  fought  upon 
the  threshold  of  my  country,  and  its  enemy  should  enter 
only  by  passing  over  my  lifeless  corpse.  Am  I,  who  have 
lived  but  for  my  country,  and  who  have  subjected  myself  to 
the  dangers  of  the  jealous  and  watchful  oppressor,  and  the 
bondage  of  the  grave,  only  to  give  my  countrymen  their 
rights,  and  my  country  her  independence,  and  am  I  to  be 
loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  suffered  to  resent  or  repel  it? 
No,  God  forbid ! 

4.  If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the 
concerns,  and  cares  of  those,  who  are  dear  to  them  in  this 
transitory  life,  0,  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  de- 
parted father,  look  down  with  scrutiny,  upon  the  conduct 
of  your  suffering  son  ;  and  see  if  I  have  even  for  a  moment 
deviatoil  from   those  principles  of  morality  and  patriotism, 


SENATORIAL.  241 

which  it  was  your  care  to  instill  into  my  youthful  mind , 
and  for  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life.  My  lords,  yoo 
are  impatient  for  the  sacrifice.  The  blood,  which  you  seek, 
i$9  not  congealed  by  the  artificial  terrors  which  surround 
your  victim;  it  circulates  warmly  and  unruffled,  through  the 
channels  which  God  created  for  noble  purposes,  but  which 
you  are  bent  to  destroy,  for  purposes  so  grievous,  that  they 
cry  to  heaven. 

5.  Be  yet  patient  I  I  have  but  a  few  words  more  to  say. 
I  am  going  to  my  cold  and  silent  grave :  my  lamp  of  life 
is  nearly  extinguished ;  my  race  is  run  :  the  grave  opens  to 
receive  me,  and  I  sink  into  its  bosom  !  I  have  but  one  re- 
quest to  ask  at  my  departure  from  this  world, — it  is  the 
charity  of  its  silence !  Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph  :  for, 
as  no  man,  who  knows  my  motives,  dare  now  vindicate  them, 
let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse  them.  Let  them,  and 
me,  repose  in  obscurity  and  peace,  and  my  tomb  remain 
uninscribed,  until  other  times,  and  other  men,  can  do  justice 
to  my  character :  when  my  country  takes  her  place  among 
the  nations  of  the  earth,  then,  and  not  till  then,  let  my  epi- 
taph bo  written.     I  have  done. 


VGAINST  THE  AMERICAN  WAR. 

1.  I  CAN  not,  my  lords,  I  will  not  join  in  congratulation 
on  misfortune  and  disgrace.  This,  my  lords,  is  a  perilous 
and  tremendous  moment.  It  is  not  a  time  for  adulation  ; 
the  smoothness  of  flattery  can  not  save  us  in  this  rugged 
and  awful  crisis.  It  is  now  necessary  to  instruct  the  throne 
in  the  language  of  truth.  We  must,  if  possible,  dispel  the 
delusion  and  darkness  which  envelop  it;  and  display,  in  its 
full  danger,  and  genuine  colors,  the  ruin  which  is  brought 
t€  our  doors.  Can  ministers  still  presume  to  expect  sup 
port  in  their  infatuation?  Can  parliament  be  so  dead  to  its 
dignity  and  duty,  as  to  give  their  support  to  measures  thus 
obtruded  and  forced  upon  them  ?  Measures,  my  lords, 
which  have  reduced  this  late  flourishing  empire  to  scorn 
and  contempt! 
K I  DO. -21 


242  ELOCUTION. 

2.  "  But  yesterday,  and  Britain  might  have  stood  againsi 
the  world  ,  low,  none  so  poor  as  to  do  her  reverence."  The 
people,  whom  we  at  first  despised  as  rebels,  but  wham  we 
now  acknowledge  as  enemies,  are  abetted  against  us,  suj^l-* 
plied  with  every  military  store,  have  their  interest  coiF^ 
suited,  and  their  embassadors  entertained  by  our  inveterate 
enemy — and  ministers  do  not,  and  dare  not  interpose  witli 
dignity  or  cflfect. 

3.  The  desperate  state  of  our  army  abroad,  is  in  part 
known.  No  man  more  highly  esteems  and  honors  the 
British  troops  than  I  do  ;  I  know  their  virtues  and  their 
valor;  I  know  they  can  achieve  any  thing  but  impossibili- 
ties ;  and  I  know  that  the  conquest  of  British  America  is 
an  impossibility.  You  can  not,  my  lords,  you  can  not  con- 
quer America.  What  is  your  present  situation  there?  We 
do  not  know  the  worst;  but  we  know  that  in  three  cam- 
paigns we  have  done  nothing,  and  suffered  much. 

4.  You  may  swell  every  expense,  and  accumulate  every 
assistance,  and  extend  your  traffic  to  the  shambles  of  every 
German  despot ;  your  attempts  will  be  forever  vain  and 
impotent — doubly  so,  indeed,  from  this  mercenary  aid  on 
which  you  rely  ;  for  it  irritates  to  an  incurable  resentment 
the  minds  of  your  adversaries,  to  overrun  them  with  the 
mercenary  sons  of  rapine  and  plunder,  devoting  them  and 
their  possessions  to  the  rapacity  of  hireling  cruelty.  If  I 
were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a  foreign 
troop  remained  in  my  country,  I  never  would  lay  down  my 
arms  ;   no,  never,  never,  never.  Chatham. 


XCVI.— ARBITRARY  POWER  NOT  GIVEN  TO  MAN. 

1  Mr.  Hastings  has  declared  his  opinion  that  he  is  a 
despotic  prince ;  that  he  is  to  use  arbitrary  power,  and  that 
of  course  all  his  acts  are  covered  with  that  shield.  "I 
know,"  says  he,  "  the  constitution  of  Asia  only  from  its 
practice.*'  Will  your  lordships  submit  to  hear  the  corrupt 
practices  of  mankind  made  the  principles  of  government? 
No  •  it  will  be  your  pride  aud  glory  to  teach  men  intrusted 


SENATORIAL.  248 

with  power,  that,  in  their  use  of  it,  they  are  to  conform  to 
principles,  and  not  to  draw  their  principles  from  the  corrupt 
practice  of  any  man  whatever. 

2.  Was  there  ever  heard,  or  could  it  he  conceived,  that  a 
governor  would  dare  to  heap  up  all  the  evil  practiees,  all 
the  cruelties,  oppressions,  extortions,  corruptions,  bribsncs, 
of  all  the  ferocious  usurpers,  de^-perate  robbers,  thieves 
cheats,  and  jugglers,  that  ever  had  office  from  one  end  of 
Asia  to  another,  and,  consolidating  all  this  mass  of  the  crimes 
and  absurdities  of  barbarous  domination  into  one  code, 
establish  it  as  the  whole  duty  of  an  English  governor?  1 
believe  that,  till  this  time,  so  audacious  a  thing  was  never 
attempted  by  man. 

3.  He  have  arbitrary  power!  My  lords!  the  East  India 
Company  have  not  arbitrary  power  to  give  him  —  the  king 
has  no  arbitrary  power  to  give  him ;  your  lordships  have  it 
not,  nor  the  commons,  nor  the  whole  legislature.  We  have 
no  arbitrary  power  to  give,  because  arbitrary  power  is  a 
thing  which  neither  any  man  can  hold  nor  any  man  can 
give.  No  man  can  lawfully  govern  himself  according  to  his 
own  will,  much  less  can  one  person  be  governed  by  the  will 
of  another..  We  are  all  born  in  subjection,  all  born  equally, 
high  and  low,  governors  and  governed,  in  subjection  to  one 
great  immutable  preexistent  law,  prior  to  all  our  devices, 
and  prior  to  all  our  contrivances,  paramount  to  all  our 
ideas,  and  all  our  sensations,  antecedent  to  our  very  exist- 
ence, by  which  we  aie  knit  and  connected  in  the  eternal 
frame  of  the  uni\  jrse,  and  out  of  which  we  can  not  stir. 

BURKK. 


XCVII.— BARBARITY  OF  NATIONAL  HATREDS 

1.  Mn.  Presidrnt,  we  roust  distinguish  a  little.  That 
there  exists  in  this  country  an  intense  sentiment  of  nation- 
ality; a  cherished  energetic  feeling  and  consciousness  of 
our  independent  and  separate  national  existence ;  a  feeling 
that  wc  have  a  transcendent  destiny  to  fulfill,  which  we 
mean  to  fulfill ;  a  great  work  to  do,  which  we  know  how  to 
'!••    :in-l   :ir(>    <}>]"   to  <\<<     ,i   r.nc.'i-   fo    nm,    uj-   v,  !■!•!■    '.^  i"   hope 


244  ELOCUTION. 

to  uscend,  till  we  stand  on  tbo  steadfast  and  glittering 
suniniits  of  the  world ;  a  feeling,  that  we  are  surrounded 
and  attended  by  a  noble  historical  group  of  competitors  and 
rivals,  the  other  nations  of  the  earth,  all  of  whom  we  hope 
to  overtake,  and  even  to  distance — such  a  sentiment  as  this 
exists,  perhaps,  in  the  character  of  this  people.  And  this 
I  do  not  discourage,  I  do  not  condemn.  But,  sir,  that 
among  these  useful  and  beautiful  sentiments,  predominant 
among  thorn,  there  exists  a  temper  of  hostility  toward  this 
one  particular  nation,  to  suclt  a  degree  as  to  amount  to  a 
habit,  a  trait,  a  national  passion — to  amount  to  a  state  of 
feeling  which  "is  to  be  regretted,"  and  which  really  threat- 
ens another  war — this  I  earnestly  and  confidently  deny.  I 
would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  this.  Sir,  the  indulgence 
of  such  a  sentiment  by  the  people  supposes  them  to  have 
forgotten  one  of  the  counsels  of  Washington.  Call  to  mind 
the  ever  seasonable  wisdom  of  the  Farewell  Address:  "The 
nation  which  indulges  toward  another  an  habitual  hatred, 
or  an  habitual  fondness,  is,  in  some  degree,  a  slave.  It  is 
a  slave  to  its  animosity,  or  to  its  affection,  either  of  which 
is  sufficient  to  lead  it  astray  from  its  duty  and  its  interest." 
2.  No,  sir!  no,  sir!  We  are  above  all  this.  Let  the 
Highland  clansman,  half-naked,  half-civilized,  half-blinded 
by  the  peat-smoke  of  his  cavern,  have  his  hereditary  enemy 
and  his  hereditary  enmity,  and  keep  the  keen,  deep,  and 
pernicious  hatred,  set  on  fire  of  hell,  alive,  if  he  can  ;  let  the 
North  American  Indian  have  his,  and  hand  it  down  from 
father  to  son,  by  what  symbols  he  may  please,  of  alligators, 
and  rattlesnakes,  and  war-clubs  smeared  with  vermilion  and 
entwined  with  scarlet;  let  such  a  country  as  Poland — cloven 
to  the  earth,  the  armed  heel  on  the  radiant  forehead,  her 
body  dead,  her  soul  incapable  to  die — let  her  remember  the 
"wrongs  of  days  long  past;"  let  the  lost  and  wandering 
tribes  of  Israel  remember  theirs — the  manliness  and  the 
sympathy  of  the  world  may  allow  or  pardon  this  to  them ; 
but  shall  America,  young,  free,  prosperous,  just  setting  out 
on  the  highway  of  heaven,  "decorating  and  cheering  the 
elevated  sphere  she  just  begins  to  move  in,  glittering  like 
the  morning  star,  full  of  life  and  joy,"  shall  she  be  supposed 


SENATORxA  ...  245 

to  be  polluting  and  corroding  her  noble  and  happy  heart, 
by  moping  over  old  stories  of  stamp  act,  and  tea  tax,  and 
the  firing  of  the  Leopard  upon  the  Chesapeake  in  a  time 
of  peace?  No,  sir!  no,  sirl  a  thousand  times  no!  Why,  I 
protest  I  thought  all  that  had  been  settled.  I  thought  two 
wars  had  settled  it  all.  What  else  was  so  much  good  blood 
shed  for,  on  so  many  more  than  classical  fields  of  Revolu- 
tionary glory?  For  what  was  so  much  good  blood  more 
lately  shed,  at  Lundy's  Lane,  at  Fort  Erie,  before  and  be- 
hind the  lines  at  New  Orleans,  on  the  deck  of  the  Consti- 
tution, on  the  deck  of  the  Java,  on  the  lakes,  on  the  sea, 
but  to  settle  exactly  these  "wrongs  of  past  days?"  And 
have  we  come  back  sulky  and  sullen  from  tlio  very  field  of 
honor?     For  my  country,  I  deny  it 

3.  Mr.  President,  let  me  say  that,  in  my  judirmcnt,  this 
notion  of  a  national  enmity  of  feeling  toward  Great  Bri- 
tain belongs  to  a  past  age  of  our  history.  My  younger 
countrymen  are  unconscious  of  it.  They  disavow  it.  That 
generation  in  whose  opinions  and  feelings  the  actions  and 
the  destiny  of  the  next  are  unfolded,  as  the  tree  in  the 
germ,  do  not  at  all  comprehend  your  meaning,  nor  your 
fears,  nor  your  regrets.  Wc  are  born  to  happier  feelings. 
We  look  to  England  as  wc  look  to  France.  We  look  to 
them  from  our  new  world — not  unrenowned,  yet  a  new 
world  still — and  the  blood  mounts  to  our  cheeks ;  our  eyes 
swim ;  our  voices  are  stifled  with  emulousness  of  so  much 
glory;  their  trophies  will  not  let  us  sleep;  but  there  is  no 
hatred  at  all ;  no  hatred — no  barbarian  memory  of  wrongs, 
for  which  brave  men  have  made  the  last  expiation  to  the 
brave.  rufus  choatf 


XCVm— VARIETIES. 
1. — TOE   NATURE   OP   ELOQUENCE. 

1.  When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed,  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong  pas- 
sions excited,  nothing  is  valuable  in  speech,  fartiier  ihnn  it 
IB  connected  viiih  high  intellectual  and  moral  endowment? 


246  ELOCUTION. 

Clearness,  force  and  earnestness,  are  the  qualities  which  pro 
duco  conviction  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  consis) 
in  speech.  It  can  not  be  brought  from  far.  Labor  and 
learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in  vain. 

2.  Words  and  phrases  may  be  marshaled  in  every  way, 
but  they  can  not  compass  it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  io 
the  subject,  and  in  the  occasion.  Affected  passion,  intense 
expression,  the  ponu.  of  dpclamation,  all  may  aspire  after  it, 
but  can  not  reach  <  omes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the 
outbreaking  of  a  lountam  from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting 
forth  of  volcanic  fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native 
force. 

3.  The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments 
and  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  mon, 
when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their 
children,  and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the 
hour.  Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric  is  vain, 
and  all  elaborate  oratory,  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself 
then  feels  rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of 
higher  qualities. 

4.  Then,  patriotism  is  eloquent;  then,  self-devotion  ig 
eloquent.  The  clear  conception,  out-running  the  deductions 
of  logic,  the  high  purpose,  of  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless 
spirit,  speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  in- 
forming every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward, 
right  onward  to  his  object, — this  is  eloquence. 

WEBSTER. 
2. — HANNIBAL   TO    HIS    SOLDIERS. 

1.  On  what  side  soever  I  turn  my  eyes,  I  behold  all  full 
of  courage  and  strength;  «  veteran  infantry,  a  most  gallant 
cavalry ;  you,  my  allies  most  faithful  and  valiant ;  you, 
Carthaginians,  whom  not  only  your  country's  cause,  but  the 
justcst  anger,  impels  to  battle.  The  hope,  the  courage  of 
assailants,  is  always  great.sr  than  of  those  who  act  upon  the 
d  '.fensive.  With  hostile  banners  displayed,  you  are  come 
down  upon  Italy;  you  bring  the  war.  Grief,  injuries,  in- 
dignities, fire  your  minds,  and  spur  you  forward  to  revenge. 

2.  First,  they  demand  me — that  I,  your  general,  should 


SENATORIAL.  247 

l)c  delivered  up  to  them ;  next,  all  of  you,  who  had  fought 
at  the  siege  of  Saguntum  ;  and  we  were  to  be  put  to  death 
hy  the  extremest  tortures.  Proud,  and  cruel  nation  !  every 
thing  must  be  yours,  and  at  your  disposal !  You  are  to  pre- 
scribe to  us,  with  whom  we  shall  make  war,  with  whom  we 
•hall  make  peace!  You  are  to  set  us  bounds;  to  shut  us  up 
within  hills  and  rivers;  but  you — you  are  not  to  observe 
the  limits,  which  yourselves  have  fixed. 

3.  Pass  not  the  Ibcrus !  What  next?  Touch  not  the 
Saguntines;  js  Saguntum  upon  the  Iberus?  move  not  a  step 
toward  that  city.  Is  it  a  small  matter,  then,  that  you  have 
deprived  us  of  our  ancient  possessions,  Sicily  and  Sardinia? 
you  would  have  Spain,  too?  Well,  we  shall  yield  Spain; 
and  then  you  will  pass  into  Africa !  Will  pass,  did  I  say  ? 
this  very  year,  they  ordered  one  of  their  consuls  into  Africa, 
the  other  into  Spain. 

4.  No,  soldiers,  there  is  nutUing  left  for  us,  but  what  we 
can  vindicate  with  our  swords.  Come  on  then,  be  men. 
The  Romans  may  with  more  safety  be  cowards  ;  they  have 
their  own  country  behind ;  have  places  of  refuge  to  flee  to, 
and  are  secure  from  danger  in  the  roads  thither;  but  for 
you,  there  is  no  middle  fortune  between  death  and  victory. 
Let  this  be  but  well  fixed  in  your  minds,  and  once  again, 
I  say,  you  are  conquerors.  livy. 


XCIX.— SPEECH  OF  PATRICK  HENRY. 

1.  1  HAVE  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet  are  guided; 
iod  that  is  the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of 
judging  of  the  future  but  by  the  past.  And,  judging  by 
the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there  has  been,  in  the  con- 
duct of  the  British  ministry,  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  justif} 
IhoBO  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleasea  to 
solace  themselves,  and  the  house?  Is  it  that  insidious 
8uiile  with  which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received? 
Trust  it  not,  sir ;  it  will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feeu  Suf- 
fer not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss.  Ask  yoar- 
p.>i....,  I.  ....  *i.:     ._ .  :  .^jg  reception  of  our  petition  comportf 


248  ELOCUTIOIT. 

with  those  warlike  preparations  which  cover  our  waters,  and 
darken  our  land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a 
work  of  love  and  reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves 
«o  unwilling  to  be  reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in 
to  win  back  our  love? 

2.  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These  are  the  im- 
plements of  war  and  subjugation — the  last  arguments  to 
irhich  kings  resort.  I  ask,  gentlemen,  sir,  what  means  this 
martial  array,  if  its  purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submis- 
sion ?  Can  gentlemen  assign  any  other  possibje  motive  for 
it?  Has  Great  Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the 
world,  to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and 
armies  ?  No,  sir,  she  has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us ; 
they  can  be  meant  for  no  other.  They  are  sent  over  to 
bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains  which  the  British  min- 
istry have  been  so  long  forging.  And  what  have  we  to 
oppose  to  them?  Shall  we  try  argument?  Sir,  we  have 
been  trying  that  for  the  last  ten  years.  Have  we  any  thing 
new  to  offer  upon  the  subject?     Nothing. 

3.  We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of  which 
it  is  capable  ;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall  we  resort 
to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication  ?  What  terms  shall 
we  find  which  have  not  been  already  exhausted  ?  Let  us 
not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer,  -sir,  we* 
have  done  every  thing  that  could  be  done  to  avert  the  storm 
which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned ;  we  have 
remonstrated ;  we  have  supplicated ;  we  have  prostrated 
ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  interpo- 
sition to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and 
parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted;  our  remon- 
strances have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult;  our 
supplications  have  been  disregarded,  and  we  have  been 
ipurned  with  contempt  from  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

4.  In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond 
hope  oi  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any 
room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free ;  if  we  mean  to  pre- 
serve inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges,  for  which  we 
have  been  so  long  contending ;  if  we  mean  not  basely  tw 
Kbandon  the  noble  struggle,  in  which  we  have  been  so  long 


8ENA1UK1AL.  249 

engaged,  and  which  wc  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to 
abandon,  until  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be 
obtained — we  must  fight!     I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must'fight! 

5.  An  appeal  to  arms,  and  to  the  God  dF  hosts,  is  all 
that  is  left  us.  They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak,  unable 
to  cope  with  so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall 
we  be  stronger?  Will  it  be  the  next  week  or  the  next 
year?  Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when 
a  British  guard  shall  be  stationed  in  every  house?  Shall 
we  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction?  Shall  we 
acquire  the  means  of  eflfectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely 
on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope, 
until  our  enemies  shall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot? 

6.  Sir,  we  are  not  weak  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those 
means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power. 
Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty, 
and  in  such  a  country  as  that  which  we  possess,  are  invinci- 
ble by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us. 
Besides,  sir,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone.  There  is 
a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations,  and 
who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The 
battle,  sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone,  it  is  to  the  vigilant, 
the  active,  the  brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election. 
If  we  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to 
retire  from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat  but  in  submis- 
sion "and  slavery.  Our  chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking 
may  be  heard  on  flie  plains  of  Boston  !  The  war  is  inevi- 
table, and  let  it  come!     I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come! 

7.  It  is  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen 
may  cry  peace,  peace,  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is 
actually  begun !  The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  North 
will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms  !  Our 
brethren  are  already  in  the  field!  Why  stand  we  here  idle! 
What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish?  what  would  they  have? 
Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the 
price  of  chains  and  slavery?  Forbid  it,  Almighty  God!  I 
know  not  what  course  others  mav  take,  but  as  for  nic,  give 
me  liberty,  or  give  me  deat 


.:.)U  ELOCUTION. 

ARIETIES 
1.       UKiMT    OF    FREE    DISCUSSION. 

1.  Impoutant  as  I  deem  it  to  discuss,  on  all  proper  occa- 
sions, the  policy  of  the  measures  at  present  pursued,  it  if 
still  more  important  to  maintain  the  right  of  such  discus- 
ion,  in  its  full  and  just  extent.     Sentiments  lately  sprung 

op,  and  now  growing  fashionable,  make  it  necessary  to  be 
explicit  on  this  point.  The  more  I  perceive  a  disposition 
to  check  the  freedom  of  inquiry  by  extravagant  and  uncon- 
stitutional pretenses,  the  firmer  shall  be  the  tone,  in  which 
I  shall  assert,  and  the  freer  the  manner,  in  which  I  shall 
exercise  it. 

2.  It  is  the  ancient  and  undoubted  prerogative  of  this 
people  to  canvass  public  measures  and  the  merits  of  public 
men.  It  is  a  ''  home-bred  right,"  a  fireside  privilege.  It 
hath  ever  been  enjoyed  in  every  house,  cottage  and  cabin 
in  the  nation.  It  is  not  to  be  drawn  into  controversy.  It 
is  as  undoubted  as  the* right  of  breathing  the  air,  or  walk- 
ing on  the  earth.  Belonging  to  private  life  as  a  right,  it 
belongs  to  public  life  as  a  duty;  and  it  is  the  last  duty, 
which  those,  whose  representative  I  am,  shall  find  me  to 
abandon.  Aiming  at  all  times  to  be  courteous  and  temperate 
in  its  use,  except  when  the  right  itself  shall  be  questioned, 
I  shall  place  myself  on  the  extreme  boundary  of  my  right, 
and  bid  defiance  to  any  arm  that  would  move  me  from  my 
ground. 

8.  This  high  constitutional  privilege,  I  shall  defend  and 
exercise,  within  this  house,  and  without  this  house,  and  in 
all  places;  in  time  of  peace,  and  at  all  times.  Living  I 
shall  assert  it ;  and  should  I  leave  no  other  inheritance  to 
my  children,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  will  leave  them  the 
inheritance  of  free  principles,  and  the  example  of  a  manly, 
independent  and  constitutional  defense  of  them. 

WEBSTER. 
2. — MORAL   DESOLATION. 

1.  War  may  stride  over  the  land  with  the  crushing  step 
of  a  giant.     Pestilence  may  st^al   over  it  like  an  invisible 


SENATORIAL.  2.V1 

curse — reaching  its  victims  silently  and  unseen — unpeopling 
liere  a  village  and  there  a  city,  until  every  dwelling  is  a 
sopulehcr.  Famine  may  brood  over  it  with  a  long  and 
weary  visitation,  until  the  sky  itself  is  brazen,  and  the  beau- 
tiful greenness  gives  place  to  a  parched  desert — a  wide  waste 
of  unproductive  desolation.  But  these  are  only  physical 
evils.  The  wild  flower  will  bloom  in  peace  on  the  field  of 
battle  and  above  the  crushed  skeleton.  The  destroying 
angel  of  the  pestilence  will  retire  when  his  errand  is  done, 
and  the  nation  will  again  breathe  freely :  the  barrenness 
of  famine  will  cease  at  last — the  cloud  will  be  prodigal  of  its 
hoarded  rain — and  the  wilderness  will  blossom. 

2.  But  for  moral  desolation  there  is  no  reviving  spring. 
Let  the  moral  and  republican  principles  of  our  country  be 
abandoned — our  representatives  bow  in  unconditional  ob- 
sequiousness to  individual  dictation — let  impudence  and  in- 
trigue and  corruption  triumph  over  honesty  and  intellect, 
and  our  liberties  and  strength  will  depart  forever.  Of  these 
there  can  be  no  resuscitation.  The  "  abomination  of  deso- 
lation" will  be  fixed  and  perpetual;  and  as  the  mighty  fabric 
of  our  glory  totters  into  ruins,  the  nations  of  the  earth  will 
mock  us  in  our  overthrow,  like  the  powers  of  darkness, 
when  the  throned  one  of  Babylon  became  even  as  themselves 
— and  the  "  glory  of  the  Chaldee's  excellency"  had  gone 
down. 


CI.— NOBILITY  OF  LABOR. 

1.  Why,  in  the  great  scale  of  things,  is  labor  ordained 
for  us?  Easily,  had  it  so  pleased  the  great  Ordainer,  might 
it  have  been  dispensed  with.  The  world  itself  might  have 
been  a  mighty  machinery,  for  producing  all  that  man  wants. 
Houses  might  have  risen  like  an  exhalation, 

«*  With  the  sound 
Of  dulcet  symphonies,  and  voices  sweet, 
Built  like  a  temple." 

2.  Gorgeous  furniture  might  have  been  placed  in  them, 
And  soft  couches  and  luxurious  banquets  spread  by  hands 
unseen  in,  clothed  with  fabrics  of  nature's  weaving. 


252  ELOcuT^o^. 

rather  than  with  imperial  purple,  might  have  been  sent  to 
disport  himself  in  those  Elysian  palaces. 

3.  "  Fair  scene!"  I  imagine  you  are  saying;  *' fortunate 
for  us  had  it  been  the  scene  ordained  for  human  life !" 
But  where,  then,  had  been  human  energy,  perseverance, 
patience,  virtue,  heroism  ?  Cut  ofif  labor  with  one  blow 
from  the  world,  and  mankind  had  sunk  to  a  crowd  of 
Asiatic  voluptuaries. 

4.  No,  it  had  not  been  fortunate!  Better  that  the  earth 
be  given  to  man  as  a  dark  mass  whereupon  to  labor.  Bet- 
ter that  rude  and  unsightly  materials  be  provided  in  the 
ore-bed,  and  in  the  forest,  for  him  to  fashion  in  splendor 
and  beauty.  Better,  I  say,  not  because  of  that  splendor 
and  beauty,  but  because  the  act  of  creating  them  is  better 
than  the  things  themselves;  because  exertion  is  nobler  than 
enjoyment;  because  the  laborer  is  greater  and  more  worthy 
of  honor  than  the  idler. 

5.  I  call  upon  those  whom  I  address,  to  f^tand  up  ior 
the  nobility  of  labor.  It  is  heaven's  great  ordinance  for 
human  improvement.  -  Let  not  the  great  ordinance  be  bro- 
ken down.  What  do  I  say?  It  is  broken  down  ;  and  has 
been  broken  down  for  ages.  Let  it  then  be  built  again  ;  here, 
if  any  where,  on  the  shores  of  a  new  world — of  a  new  civili- 
zation. 

6.  But  how.  it  may  he  asked,  is  it  broken  down  ?  Do 
not  men  toil?  it  may  be  said.  They  do  indeed  toil,  but 
they  too  generally  do  because  they  must.  Many  submit  to 
it,  as  in  some  sort,  a  degrading  necessity ;  and  they  desire 
nothing  so  much  on  earth  as  an  escape  from  it.  They  ful- 
fill the  great  law  of  labor  in  the  letter,  but  break  it  in  the 
spirit.  To  some  field  of  labor,  mental  or  manual,  every  idler 
should  hasten,  as  a  chosen,  coveted  field  of  improvement. 

7.  But  so  he  is  not  compelled  to  do,  under  the  teachings 
of  our  imperfect  civilization.  On  the  contrary,  he  sits  down, 
folds  his  bands,  and  blesses  himself  in  idleness.  This  way 
of  thinking  is  the  heritage  of  the  absurd  and  unjust  feudal 
system,  under  which  serfs  labored,  and  gentlemen  spent 
their  lives  in  fighting  and  feasting.  It  is  time  thai  i^x* 
opprobrium  of  toil  were  done  away. 


SENATORIAL. 

8.  Ashamed  to  toil?  Ashamed  of  thy  dingy  work-shop, 
And  dusty  hibor-field  ;  of  thy  hard  hand,  scarred  with  ser- 
vice more  honorable  than  that  of  war;  of  thy  soiled  and 
weather-stained  garments,  on  which  mother  nature  has 
embroidered  mist,  aun  and  rain,  fire  and  steam,  her  own 
heraldic  honors  ?  Ashamed  of  those  tokens  and  titles,  and 
OLvious  of  the  flaunting  robes  of  imbecile  idleness  and  van- 
ity ?  It  is  treason  to  nature,  it  is  impiety  to  heaven  ;  it  is 
breaking  heaven's  great  ordinance.  Toil,  I  repeat — toil, 
either  of  the  brain,  of  the  heart,  or  of  the  hand,  is  the 
only  true  manhood — the  only  true  nobility  1 

DEWEY. 


Cn.— THE  RIGHT  TO  TAX  AMERICA. 

1.  "  But,  Mr.  Speaker,  we  have  a  right  to  tax  America." 
Oh,  inestimable  right!  Oh,  wonderful,  transcendent  right! 
the  assertion  of  which  has  cost  this  country  thirteen  prov- 
inces, six  islands,  one  hundred  thousand  lives,  and  seventy 
millions  of  money.  Oh,  invaluable  right!  for  the  sake  of 
which  we  have  sacrificed  our  rank  among  nations,  our  im 
portance  abroad,  and  our  happiness  at  home  !  Oh,  right  i 
more  dear  to  us  than  our  existence  I  which  has  already  cost 
us  so  much,  and  which  seems  likely  to  cost  us  our  all.  In- 
fatuated man  !  miserable  and  un(}one  country  !  not  to  know 
that  the  claim  of  right,  without  the  power  of  enforcing  it, 
is  nugatory  and  idle.  We  have  a  right  to  tax  America — 
the  noble  lord  tells  us — therefore  we  ought  to  tax  America. 
This  is  the  profound  logic  which  comprises  the  whole  chain 
of  his  reasoning. 

2.  Not  inferior  to  this  was  the  wisdom  of  him  who  re- 
Rulved  to  shear  the  wolf  What,  shear  a  wolf!  Have  you 
considered  the  resistance,  the  difficulty,  the  danger  of  the 
attempt?  No,  says  the  madman,  I  have  considered  nothing 
tut  the  right.  Man  has  a  right  of  dominion  over  the  bcast:^ 
of  the  forest;  and  therefore  I  will  shear  the  wolf.  How 
wonderful  that  a  nation  could  bo  thus  deluded  !  Hut  the 
noble  lord  deals  in  cheats  and  delusions.  They  are  the  daily 
traffic  of  his  invention;    and  he  will  contii  lav  ofl 


->l  ELOCUTION 

his  chcuis  on  this  house,  so  long  as  he  thinks  them  neee» 
sary  to  his  purpose,  and  so  long  as  he  has  money  enough 
at  command  to  bribe  gentlemen  to  pretend  that  they  believe 
him.  But  a  black  and  bitter  day  of  reckoning  will  surely 
come ;  and  whenever  that  day  comes,  I  trust  I  shall  be  able, 
by  a  parliamentary  impeachment,  to  bring  upon  the  heads 
of  the  authors  of  our  calamities,  the  punishment  they  de- 
serve. BURKE. 


cm.— CIIARACTEK  AND  FATE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 

1.  In  the  fate  of  the  Aborigines  of  our  country — the 
American  Indians — there  is,  my  friends,  much  to  awaken 
our  sympathy,  and  much  to  disturb  the  sobriety  of  our 
judgment;  much  which  may  be  urged  to  excuse  their  atro- 
cities; much  in  their  characters,  which  may  betray  us  into 
an  involuntary  admiration.  What  can  be  more  melancholy 
than  their  history  ?  Two  centuries  ago,  the  smoke  of  their 
wigwams,  and  the  fires  of  their  councils  rose  in  every  valley, 
from  Hudson's  Bay  to  the  farthest  Florida,  from  the  ocean 
to  the  Mississippi  and  the  Lakes.  The  shouts  of  victory  and 
the  war-dance  rang  through  the  mountains  and  the  glades. 
The  thick  arrows  and  the  deadly  tomahawk  whistled  through 
the  forests  ;  and  the  hunter's  trace,  and  the  dark  encamp- 
ment startled  the  wild  beasts  in  their  lairs.  The  warriors 
stood  forth  in  their  glory.  The  young  men  listened  to  the 
songs  of  other  days.  The  mothers  played  with  their  infants, 
and  gazed  on  the  scene  with  warm  hopes  of  the  future.  The 
aged  sat  down ;  but  they  wept  not.  They  should  soon  be 
at  rest  in  fairer  regions,  where  the  Great  Spirit  dwelt,  in  a 
home  prepared  for  the  brave,  beyond  the  western  skies. 
Braver  men  never  lived;  truer  men  never  drew  the  bow. 
They  had  courage,  and  fortitude,  and  sagacity  and  persever- 
ance, beyond  most  of  the  human  race.  They  shrunk  from 
no  dangers,  and  they  feared  no  hardships. 

•2.  If  they  had  the  vices  of  savage  life,  they  had  the  vir- 
tues also.  They  were  true  to  their  country,  their  friends 
and  their  homes.  If  they  forgave  not  injury,  neither  did 
they  forget  kindness.  If  their  vengeance  was  terrible,  their 
fidelity  mid  generosity  were  unconquerable  also.    Their  love 


SBNATORIAL.  -)) 

like  their  hate,  stopped  not  on  this  side  of  the  grave.  But 
where  are  they?  Where  are  the  viUages,  and  warriors,  and 
youth?  The  sachems -and  the  tribes?  The  hunters  and 
their  families?  They  have  perished.  They  are  consumed. 
The  wasting  pestilence  has  not  alono  done  the  mighty  work 
No — nor  famine,  nor  war.  There  has  been  a  mightier  power, 
u  moral  canker,  which  hath  eaten  into  their  heart-cores — a 
plague,  which  the  touch  of  the  white  man  communicated — 
a  poison,  which  betrayed  them  into  a  lingering  ruin.  The 
winds  of  the  Atlantic  fan  not  a  single  region  which  they 
may  now  call  their  own.  Already,  the  last  feeble  remnants 
of  the  race  are  preparing  for  their  journey  beyond  the  Mis- 
sissippi. 

3.  I  see  them  leave  their  miserable  homes,  the  aged,  the 
helpless,  the  women  and  the  warriors,  "  few  and  faint,  yet 
fearless  still."  The  ashes  are  cold  on  their  native  hearths. 
The  smoke  no  longer  curls  round  their  lowly  cabins.  They 
move  on  with  a  slow,  unsteady  step.  The  white  man  is  upon 
their  heels,  for  terror  or  despatch  ;  but  they  heed  him  not. 
They  turn  to  t^ike  a  last  look  of  their  deserted  villages. 
They  cast  a  last  glance  upon  the  graves  of  their  fathers. 
They  shed  no  tears ;  they  utter  no  cries ;  they  heave  no 
groans.  There  is  something  in  their  hearts  which  passes 
speech.  There  is  something  in  their  looks,  not  of  vengeance 
or  submission,  but  of  hard  necessity,  which  stifles  both ; 
which  chokes  all  utterance;  which  has  no  aim  or  method. 
It  is  courage,  absorbed  in  despair.  They  linger  but  for  a 
moment.  Their  look  is  onward.  They  have  passed  the  fatal 
stream.  It  shall  never  be  repassed  by  them — no,  never. 
Yet  there  lies  not  between  us  and  them  an  impassable  gulf. 
They  know  and  feel  that  there  is  for  them  still  one  remove 
further,  not  distant,  nor  unsoou.  It  is  to  the  general  burial 
<: round  uf  their  race.  story. 


a  v.— ILLUSTRIOUS   MODEL  FOR   THE   FORMATION  OF 
CIIARACTKK. 

1     Lkt  your  ambition,  gentlemen,  be  to  enroll  your  naniea 
Pii-  '»  '  histories  our  In    r*       .    ''      ■   1    mit 


256  ELOCUTION. 

eyes  overflow  with  admiration,  delight,  and  sympathy,  from 
infancy  to  old  age;  and  the  story  of  whose  virtues,  ex- 
ploits, and  sufferings  will  continue  t<)  produce  the  same 
effect  throughout  the  world,  at  whatever  distance  of  time 
they  may  be  read.  It  is  needless,  and  it  were  endless  to 
name  them.  On  the  darker  firmament  of  history,  ancient 
and   modern,    thev  resplendent   with    their 

luster. 

2.  T^  go  no  farther  back,  look  for  your  model  to  the 
signers  of  our  Declaration  of  Independence.  You  see 
revived  in  those  men  the  spirit  of  ancient  Rome  in  Home's 
best  day ;  for  they  were  willing,  with  Curtius,  to  leap  into 
the  flaming  gulf,  which  the  oracle  of  their  own  wisdom 
had  assured  them  could  be  closed  in  no  other  way.  There 
was  one,  however,  whose  name  is  not  among  those  signers, 
but  who  must  not,  nay,  can  not  be  forgotten ;  for  when  a 
great  and  decided  patriot  is  the  theme,  his  name  is  not 
far  off. 

3.  Gentlemen,  you  need  not  go  to  past  ages  nor  to  dis- 
tant countries.  You  need  not  turn  your  eyes  to  ancient 
Greece  or  Rome,  or  to  modern  Europe.  You  have  in  your 
own  Washington  a  recent  model,  whom  you  have  only  to 
imitate  to  become  immortal.  Nor  must  you  suppose  that 
he  owed  his  greatness  to  the  peculiar  crisis  which  called 
out  his  virtues,  and  despair  of  such  another  crisis  for  the 
display  of  your  own.  His  more  than  Roman  virtues,  his 
consummate  prudence,  his  powerful  intellect,  and  his  daunt- 
less decision  and  dignity  of  character,  would  have  made  him 
illustrious  in  any  age.  The  crisis  would  have  done  noth- 
ing for  him  had  not  his  character  stood  ready  to  match  it. 

4.  Acquire  this  character,  and  fear  not  the  recurrence 
of  a  crisis  to  show  forth  its  glory.  Look  at  the  elements 
of  commotion  that  are  already  at  work  in  this  vast  republic, 
and  threatening  us  with  a  moral  earthquake  that  will  con- 
vulse it  to  its  foundation.  Look  at  the  political  degene- 
racy which  pervades  the  country,  and  which  has  already 
borne  us  so  far  away  from  the  golden  age  of  the  revolu- 
tion ;  look  at  all  the  "  signs  of  the  times,"  and  you  will 
see  but  little  cause   to   indulge   the  hope  that  no  crisis  is 


SENATORIAL.  257 

likely  to  occur  to  give  full   scope  for  the  exertion  of  the 
most  heroic  virtues. 

5.  Hence  it  is  tha\  I  so  anxiously  hold  up  to  you  the 
model  of  Washington  Form  yourselves  on  that  noble 
model.  Strive  to  acquire  his  mode.^tty,  his  disinterested- 
ness, his  singleness  of  heart,  his  determined  devotion  to  his 
country,  his  candor  in  deliberation,  his  accuracy  of  judg- 
ment, his  invincible  firmness  of  resolve,  and  then  may  you 
hope  to  be  in  your  own  age,  what  he  was  in  his — "  ^rst  in 
war.  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  your  country- 
men." 

6.  Commencing  your  career  with  this  high  strain  of  char- 
acter, your  course  will  be  as  steady  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole.  Your  end  will  be  always  virtuous,  your  means  always 
noble.  You  will  adorn  as  well  as  bless  your  country.  You 
will  exalt  and  illustrate  the  age  in  which  you  live.  Your 
(\\ample  will  shake  like  a  tempest  that  pestilential  pool  in 
which  the  virtues  of  our  people  are  already  beginning  to 
stagnate,  and  restore  the  waters  and  the  atmosphere  to  their 
rovnlntionary  purity.  W^UT. 


CV.— iJliPPOSED  SPEECH  OF  JOHN  .VDAMS. 

1.  The  war  must  go  on.  We  must  fight  it  through. 
And  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence?  That  measure  will  strengthen  us. 
It  will  give  us  character  abroad.  Why  then,  sir,  do  wc  not. 
38  soon  as  possible,  change  this  from  a  civil  to  a  national 
war?  And  since  we  must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put 
onrseWes  in  a  state  to  enjoy  all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if 
we  gain  the  victory  ?  If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us. 
But  we  shall  not  fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the 
cause  will  create  navies.  The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are 
true  to  them,  will  carry  us  and  will  carry  themselves  glori- 
ously through  this  struggle. 

'2.  I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been  found 
!  know  the  people  of  these  colonies;  and  I  know  that  resist- 
ance to  British  aggression  is  deep  and  settled  in  their  bearta« 


258  BLOCUTION. 

and  can  not  be  eradicated.  Every  colony,  indeed,  has  ex. 
pressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take  the  lead. 
Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased 
courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  restoration 
of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered  immu- 
nities, held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the  glo- 
rious object  of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe 
into  them  anew  the  breath  of  life. 

3.  Read  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army ;  every 
sword  will  be  drawn  from  ita  scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow 
uttered,  to  maintain  it  or  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honor. 
Publish  it  from  the  pulpit ;  religion  will  approve  it,  and 
the  love  of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved  to 
Btiind  with  it  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  public  halls; 
proclaim  it  there  ;  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar 
of  the  enemy's  cannon ;  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their 
brothers  and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker  Hill, 
and  in  the  streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  and  the  very 
walls  will  cry  out  in  its  support. 

4.  Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs;  but  1 
see,  I  see  clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I, 
indeed,  may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time  when 
this  declaration  shall  be  made  good.  We  may  die ;  die  col- 
onists; die  slaves;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on 
the  scaffold.  Be  it  so.  Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of 
heaven  that  my  country  shall  require  the  poor  offering 
of  my  life,  the  victim  shall  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour 
of  sacrifice,  come  when  that  hour  may.  But  while  I  do 
live,  let  me  have  a  country,  or  at  least  the  hope  of  a  coun- 
try, and  that  a  free  country. 

5.  But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured, 
that  this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and 
it  may  cost  blood ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  com- 
pensate for  both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present, 
I  see  the  brightness  of  the  future,  as  the  sun  in  heaven. 
We  shall  make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When 
we  are  in  our  graves,  our  children  will  honor  it.  They  will 
celebrate  it  with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires, 
«ind  illuminations.     On    its    annual    return   they  will  shr.d 


SENATORIAL.  259 

icara,  copious,  gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery, 
not  of  agony  and  distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude, 
and  of  joy. 

G.  Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My 
judgment  approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in 
it.  All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope 
in  this  life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it;  and  I 
leave  off  as  I  began,  that  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I 
am  for  the  declaration.  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and  by 
the  blessing  of  God  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment;  inde- 
pendence now ;  and  independence  forever. 

WEBSTER. 


CVI.— AMBITION  OF  A  STATESMAN. 

1  I  HAVE  been  accused  of  ambition  in  presenting  this 
measure — ambition,  inordinate  ambition.  If  I  had  thought 
of  myself  only,  I  should  have  never  brought  it  forward.  I 
know  well  the  perils  to  which  I  expose  myself — the  risk  of 
alienating  faithful  and  valued  friends,  with  but  little  pros- 
pect of  making  new  ones,  if  any  new  ones  could  compensate 
for  the  I0.SS  of  those  we  have  long  tried  and  loved;  and 
I  know  well  the  honest  misconception  both  of  friends  and 
foes.  Ambition?  If  I  had  listened  to  its  soft  and  seducing 
whispers — if  I  had  yielded  myself  to  the  dictates  of  a  cold, 
calculating,  and  prudential  policy,  I  would  have  stood  still 
and  unmoved.  I  might  even  have  silently  gazed  on  the 
raging  storm,  enjoyed  its  loudest  thunders,  and  left  tho.«:c 
who  are  charged  with  the  care  of  the  vessel  of  state  to  con- 
duct it  as  they  could. 

2.  I  have  been,  heretofore,  often  unjustly  accused  of  am- 
bition. Low,  groveling  souls,  who  are  utterly  incapable  of 
elevating  themselves  to  the  higher  and  nobler  duties  of  pure 
patriotism — beings  who,  forever  keeping  their  own  selfish 
ends  in  view,  decide  all  public  measures  by  their  presumed 
influence  or  their  aggrandizement — ^judge  me  by  the  venal 
rule  which  they  prescribe  to  themselves.  I  have  given  to 
the  winds  those  false  accusations,  as  I  consign  that  which 
now  impearhps  my  Ttintivp-       T  hnvr  no  do>irp  for  nfliro.  not 


260  ELOCUTION. 

even  the  bighest.  The  most  exalted  is  but  a  prison,  in  whielk 
the  incarcerated  incumbent  daily  receives  his  cold,  heartless 
visitants,  marks  his  weary  hours,  and  is  cut  off  from  the 
practical  enjoyment  of  all  the  blessings  of  genuine  free- 
dom. 

3.  I  am  DO  candidate  for  any  office  in  the  gift  of  the  peo- 
ple of  these  States,  united  or  separated;  I  never  wish,  never 
expect  to  be.  Pass  this  bill,  tranquilize  the  country,  restore 
confidence  and  affection  in  the  Union,  and  I  am  willing  to 
go  home  to  Ashland,  and  renounce  public  service  forever. 
I  should  there  find,  in  its  groves,  under  its  shades,  on  its 
lawns,  mid  my  flocks  and  herds,  in  the  bosom  of  ray  family^ 
cincerity  and  truth,  attachment  and  fidelity,  and  gratitude, 
which  I  have  not  always  found  in  the  walks  of  public  life. 
Yes,  I  have  ambition  ;  but  it  is  the  ambition  of  being  the 
humble  instrument,  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  to  reconcile 
a  divided  people;  once  more  to  revive  concord  and  harmony 
in  a  distracted  land — the  pleasing  ambition  of  contemplating 
the  glorious  spectacle  of  a  free,  united,  prosperous,  and 
fraternal  people ! 

H.    CLAY. 


CVII.— SPEECH  IN  THE  CONVENTION  OF  VIRGINIA. 

1.  Sir,  I  see  no  wisdom  in  making  this  provision  for 
future  changes.  You  must  give  governments  time  to  ope- 
rate on  the  people,  and  give  the  people  time  to  become 
gradually  assimilated  to  their  institutions.  Almost  any 
thing  is  better  than  this  state  of  perpetual  uncertainty.  A 
people  may  have  the  best  form  of  government  that  the  wit 
of  man  ever  devised ;  and  yet,  from  its  uncertainty  alone, 
may,  in  effect,  live  under  the  worst  government  in  the 
world.  Sir,  how  often  must  I  repeat,  that  change  is  not 
reform.  I  am  willing  that  this  new  constitution  shall  stand 
as  long  as  it  is  possible  for  it  to  stand,  and  that,  believe  me, 
is  a  very  short  time. 

2.  Sir,  it  is  vain  to  deny  it.  They  may  say  what  they 
please  about  the  old  constitution — the  defect  is  not  there 
It    is    not    in    the    form    of   the  old  edifice,  neither  in  the 


SENATORIAL.  261 

design  nor  the  elevation ;  it  is  in  the  material — it  is  in  the 
people  of  Virginia.  To  ray  knowledge  that  people  are 
uhanged  from  what  they  have  been.  The  four  hundred 
men  who  went  out  to  David  were  in  debt.  The  partisans 
of  Caesar  were  in  debt.  The  fellow-laborers  of  Catiline 
were  in  debt.  And  I  defy  you  to  show  me  a  desperately 
Indebted  people  any  where  who  can  bear  a  regular,  sober 
^:>vernment.  I  throw  the  challenge  to  all  who  hear  me. 
I  say  that  the  character  of  the  good  old  Virginia  planter — 
the  man  who  owned  from  five  to  twenty  slaves,  or  less,  who 
lived  b}  hard  work,  and  who  paid  his  debts,  is  passed  away. 
A  new  order  of  things  is  come.  The  period  has  arrived 
of  living  by  one's  wits — of  living  by  contracting  debts  that 
one  can  not  pay — and  above  all,  of  living  by  office-hunting, 

3.  Sir,  what  do  we  see?  Bankrupts — branded  bankrupts 
— giving  great  dinners — sending  their  children  to  the  most 
expensive  schools — giving  grand  parties — and  just  as  well 
received  as  any  body  in  society.  I  say,  that  in  such  a  state 
of  thiugs  the  old  constitution  was  too  good  for  them;  they 
could  not  bear  it.  No,  sir — they  could  not  bear  a  free- 
hold suffrage  and  a  property  representation. 

4.  I  have  always  endeavored  to  do  the  people  justice;  but 
I  will  not  flatter  them — I  will  not  pander  to  their  appetite 
for  change.  1  will  do  nothing  to  provide  for  change.  I 
will  not  agree  to  any  rule  of  future  apportionment,  or  to 
any  provision  for  future  changes,  called  amendments,  to  the 
constitution.  They  who  love  change — who  delight  in  pub- 
lic confusion — who  wish  to  feed  the  caldron,  and  make  it 
bubble — may  vote  if  they  please  for  future  changes.  But 
by  what  spell — by  what  formula  are  you  going  to  bind  the 
people  to  all  future  time?  You  may  make  what  entries 
upon  parchment  you  please.  Give  me  a  constitution  that 
will  last  for  half  a  century — that  is  all  I  wish  for.  No 
oonstitution  that  you  ran  make  will  last  the  one-half  of 
half  a  century. 

5.  Sir,  I  will  stake  any  thing  abort  of  my  salvation,  that 
those  who  are  malcontent  now,  will  be  more  malcontent 
three  years  hence  than  they  are  at  this  day.  1  have  no 
favor  for  tin-   *""^':t(ition   -I    sliall  vote   against  its  adop- 


262  ELOCUTION. 

tion,  and  1  shall  advise  all  the  people  of  my  district  to  set 
their  faces — ay — and  their  shoulders  against  it.  But  if  we 
are  to  have  it — let  us  not  have  it  with  its  death-warrant  in 
its  very  face,  with  the  Sardonic  grin  of  death  upon  its 
countenance.  .tohv  hanooi^ph. 


CVllI.— IGNOKA.Ni  i.  i:>   ulK  i^uuiMivi   A  CRIME. 

1  In  all  the  dungeons  of  the  old  world,  where  the  strong 
champions  of  freedom  are  now  pining  in  captivity  beneath 
the  remorseless  power  of  the  tyrant,  the  morning  sun  does 
not  send  a  glimmering  ray  into  their  cells,  nor  does  night 
draw  a  thicker  vail  of  darkness  between  them  and  the 
world,  but  the  lone  prisoner  lifts  his  iron -laden  arms  to 
heaven  in  prayer,  that  we,  the  depositaries  of  freedom  and 
of  human  hopes,  may  be  faithful  to  our  sacred  trust ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  pensioned  advocates  of  des- 
potism stand,  with  listening  ear,  to  catch  the  first  sound  of 
lawless  violence  that  is  wafted  from  our  shores,  to  note  th« 
first  breach  of  faith  or  act  of  perfidy  among  us,  and  to 
convert  them  into  arguments  against  liberty  and  the  rights 
of  man. 

2.  There  is  not  a  shout  sent  up  by  an  insane  mob,  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  but  it  is  echoed  by  a  thousand 
presses,  and  by  ten  thousand  tongues,  along  every  moun- 
tain and  valley  on  the  other.  There  is  not  a  conflagration 
kindled  here  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  violence,  but  its 
flame  glares  over  all  Europe,  from  horizon  to  zenith.  On 
each  occurrence  of  a  flagitious  scene,  whether  it  be  an  act 
of  turbulence  and  devastation,  or  a  deed  of  perfidy  or 
breach  of  faith,  monarchs  point  them  out  as  fruits  of  the 
growth  and  omens  of  the  fate  of  republics,  and  claim  for 
themselves  and  their  heirs  a  further  extension  of  the  lease 
of  despotism. 

3.  The  experience  of  the  ages  that  are  past,  the  hopes  of 
the  ages  that  are  yet  to  come,  unite  their  voices  in  an  ap- 
peal to  us  ;  they  implore  us  to  think  more  of  the  character 
of  our  people  than  of  its  numbers ;  to  look  upon  our  vast 


8BNAT0RIAL.  268 

naldidl  le^ourccs,  not  as  tempters  t(j  ostentation  and  pride, 
but  as  a  means  to  be  converted,  by  the  refining  alchemy 
of  education,  into  mental  and  spiritual  treasures;  they  8up- 
plicate  us  to  seek  for  whatever  complacency  or  self-satisfac- 
tion we  arc  disposed  to  indulge,  not  in  the  extent  of  oiir 
territory,  or  in  the  products  of  our  soil,  but  in  the  expan- 
sion and  perpetuation  of  the  means  of  human  happiness ; 
they  beseech  us  to  exchange  the  luxuries  of  sense  for  the 
joys  of  charity,  and  thus  give  to  the  world  the  example  of 
a  nation  whose  wisdom  increases  with  its  prosperity,  and 
whose  virtues  are  equal  to  its  power.  For  these  ends  they 
enjoin  upon  us  a  more  earnest,  a  more  universal,  a  more 
religious  devotion  to  oar  exertions  and  resources,  to  the 
culture  of  the  youthful  mind  and  heart  of  the  nation. 
Their  gathered  voices  assert  the  eternal  truth,  that,  in  a 
republic^  ignorance  is  a  crime ;  and  that  private  immorality 
i-i  not  less  an  opprobrium  to  the  state  than  if  is  guilt  in  the 
prrpetrator.  H.   MANN. 


CIX.— REBELLION  AND  REVOLUTION. 

1.  I  SMALL  resist  all  encroachments  on  the  constitution, 
whether  it  be  the  encroachment  of  this  government  on  the 
States,  or  the  opposite — the  executive  on  congress,  or  con- 
gress on  the  executive.  My  creed  is,  to  hold  both  govern- 
ments, and  all  the  departments  of  each,  to  their  proper 
sphere,  and  to  maintain  the  authority  of  the  laws  and  the 
constitution,  against  all  revolutionary  movements.  I  be- 
lieve the  means  which  our  system  furnishes  to  preserve 
itaelf  are  ample,  if  fairly  understood  and  applied  ;  and  I 
shall  resort  to  them,  however  corrupt  and  disordered  the 
times.  80  long  as  there  is  hope  of  reforming  the  govern- 
ment. 

2.  The  result  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Disposer  of  events. 
It  is  my  part  to  do  my  duty.  Yet,  while  I  thus  openly 
avow  myself  a  conservative,  God  forbid  I  should  ever  deny 
the  glorious  right  of  rebellion  and  revolution !  Should 
oorrnpt''>v  -■ -!  r>v  •,-    :   ••   » f-.fo  intolerable,  an«l  <*:in  not 


264  ELOCUTION. 

otherwise  be  thrown  off — if  liberty  must  perish,  or  the 
jrovernment  be  overthrown — I  would  not  hesitate,  at  the 
hazard  of  life,  to  resort  to  revolution,  and  to  tear  down  a 
corrupt  government,  that  could  neither  be  reformed  nor 
borne  by  freemen.  But  I  trust  in  God  that  thinj;s  will 
never  come  to  that  pass.  I  trust  never  to  see  such  fearful 
times;  for  fearful  indeed  they  would  be.  if  they  should  ever 
befall  us.  It  is  the  last  remedy,  and  not  to  be  thought  of 
till  common  sense  and  the  voice  of  mankind  would  justify 
the  resort.  .1.   c   rALiiorN. 


ex.— POLITICAL  CORRUPTION. 

1.  We  are  apt  to  treat  the  idea  of  our  own  corruptibil- 
ity as  utterly  visionary,  and  to  ask,  with  a  grave  affectation 
of  dignity — what!  do  you  think  a  member  of  congress  can 
be  corrupted  ?  Sir,  I  speak  what  I  have  long  and  delibe- 
rately considered,  when  I  say,  that  since  man  was  created, 
there  never  h.is  been  a  political  body  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  that  would  not  be  corrupted  under  the  same  circum- 
stances. Corruption  steals  upon  us  in  a  thousand  insid- 
ious forms,  when  we  are  least  aware  of  its  approaches. 

2.  Of  all  the  forms,  in  which  it  can  present  itself,  the 
bribery  of  office  is  the  most  dangerous,  because  it  assumes 
the  guise  of  patriotism  to  accomplish  its  fatal  sorcery. 
We  are  often  asked,  where  is  the  evidence  of  corruption  ? 
Have  you  seen  it?  Sir,  do  you  expect  to  see  it?  You 
might  as  well  expect  to  see  the  embodied  forms  of  pesti- 
lence and  famine  stalking  before  you,  as  to  see  the  latent 
operations  of  this  insidious  power.  We  may  walk  amid 
it,  and  breathe  its  contagion,  without  being  conscious  of  its 
presence. 

3.  All  experience  teaches  us  the  irresistible  power  of 
temptation,  when  vice  assumes  the  form  of  virtue.  The 
great  enemy  of  mankind  could  not  have  consummated  his 
infernal  scheme,  for  the  seduction  of  our  first  parents,  but 
for  the  disguise  in  which  he  presented  himself.  Had  he 
appeared   as  the  devil,  in    his  proper  form — had  the  speai 


SENATORIAL.  265 

of  Ithuriel  disclosed  the  naked  deformity  of  the  fiend  of 
hell,  the  inhabitants  of  paradise  would  have  shrunk  with 
horror  from  his  presence. 

4.  But  he  came  as  the  insinuating  serpent,  and  presented 
a  beautiful  apple,  the  most  delicious  fruit  in  all  the  garden. 
lie  told  his  glowing  story  to  the  unsuspecting  victim  of 
his  guile — "It  can  bo  no  crime  to  taste  of  this  delightful 
fruit"— it  will  disclose  to  you  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil — it  will  raise  you  to  an  equality  with  the  angels." 

5.  Such,  sir,  was  the  process  ;  and,  in  this  simple,  but 
impressive  narrative,  we  have  the  most  beautiful  and  philo- 
sophical illustration  of  the  frailty  of  man,  and  the  power 
of  temptation,  that  could  possibly  be  exhibited.  Mr.  Chair- 
man, I  have  been  forcibly  struck  with  the  similarity  be- 
tween our  present  situation  and  that  of  Eve,  after  it  was 
announced  that  Satan  was  on  the  borders  of  paradise. 
We,  too,  have  been  warned,  that  tlie  enemy  is  on  our 
borders. 

G.  But  God  foruid  that  the  similitude  should  be  carried 
any  further.  Eve,  conscious  of  her  innocence,  sought 
temptation  and  defied  it.  The  catastrophe  is  too  fatally 
known  to  us  all.  She  went  "  with  the  blessings  of  heaven 
on.  her  head,  and  its  purity  in  her  heart,"  guarded  by  the 
ministry  of  angels — she  returned  covered  with  shame,  under 
the  heavy  denunciation  of  heaven's  everlasting  curse. 

7.  Sir,  it  is  innocence  that  temptation  conquers.  If  our 
first  parent,  pure  as  she  came  from  the  hand  of  God,  was 
overcome  by  the  seductive  power,  let  us  not  imitate  her 
fatal  rashness,  seeking  temptation  when  it  is  in  our  power 
to  avoid  it.  Let  us  not  vainly  confide  in  our  own  infalli- 
bility. Wo  are  liable  to  bo  corrupted.  To  an  ambitious 
man,  an  honorable  oflSce  will  appear  as  beautiful  and  fa.«> 
oinatiiig  as  the  apple  of  paradise. 

8.  I  admit,  sir,  that  ambition  is  a  passion,  at  once  the 
most  powerful  and  the  most  useful.  Without  it  human 
afiairs  would  become  a  mere  stagnant  pool.  By  means  of 
his  patronage,  the  President  addresses  himself  in  the  most 
irrcnistiblc  manner,  to  this  the  noblest  and  strongest  of  our 
passions.     All    thnt    tho    iinai;inution    can    desire  —  honor, 

KiDD.— 2;s 


266  KLOCUTION 

power  ease,  are  held  out  as  the  temptation.     Man 

was  noL  .w...v^  to  resist  such  temptation.  It  is  impossible 
to  conceive,  Satan  himself  could  not  devise,  a  system  which 
would  more  infallibly  introduce  corruption  and  death  into 
our  political  Eden.  Sir,  the  angels  fell  from  heaven  with 
less  temptation.  m'duppie. 

CXI.— j:\i ..:>.-! v':>  v>r  iiti.  umOi.Lic. 

1.  In  the  errand  and  steady  progress  of  the  Kepublic.  tiie 
career  of  duty  ;i:i'l  usefulness  will  be  run  by  all  its  children, 
under  a  constantly  increasing  excitement.  The  voice,  which, 
in  the  morning  of  life,  shall  awaken  the  patriotic  sympathy 
of  the  land,  will  be  echoed  back  by  a  community,  incalcu- 
lably swell' '1  '<>  '1^  1'^  proportions,  before  that  voice  shall 
be  hushed 

2.  The  wnlcr,  by  whom  the  noble  features  of  our  scenery 
shall  be  sketched  with  a  glowing  pencil,  the  traits  of  our 
romantic  early  history  gathered  up  with  filial  zeal,  and  the 
peculiarities  "'  :•  character  seized  with  delicate  perception, 
can  not  ni  entirely  and  rapidly  to  success,  but  that 
ten  years  will  add  new  millions  to  the  numbers  of  his 
readers.  The  American  statesman,  the  orator,  whose  voice 
is  already  heard  in  its  supremacy,  from  Florida  to  Maine, 
whose  intellectual  empire  already  extends  beyond  the  limits 
of  Alexander's,  has  yet  new  states  and  new  nations,  starting 
mto  bcini:.  tlie  willing  tributaries  t^  liis  .-way. 

3.  The  wilderness,  which  one  year  is  impassable,  is  tra- 
Tcrsed  the  next  by  the  caravans  of  the  industrious  emigrants, 
who  go  to  follow  the  setting  sun  with  the  language,  the  in- 
stitutions, and  the  arts  of  civilized  life.  It  is  not  the  ir- 
ruption of  wild  barbarians,  sent  to  visit  the  wrath  of  God 
on  a  degenerate  empire ;  it  is  not  the  inroad  of  disciplined 
banditti,  marshaled  by  the  intrigues  of  ministers  and  kings. 
It  is  the  human  family,  let  out  to  possess  its  broad  patri- 
mony. The  states  and  nations,  which  are  springing  up  in 
the  valley  of  the  distant  west,  are  bound  to  us  by  the  dear- 
est ties  of  a  common  language,  a  common  government,  and 
ft  common  descent. 


SENATORIAL.  267 

4.  Who,  then,  can  forget  that  this  extension  of  our  ter- 
ritorial limits,  is  the  extension  of  the  empire  of  all  we  hold 
dear;  of  our  laws,  of  our  character,  of  the  memory  of  our 
ancestors,  of  the  great  achievments  in  our  history?  Whith- 
ersoever the  sous  of  the  original  states  shall  wander,  to 
Fouthern  or  western  climes,  they  will  send  back  their  hcaTta 
to  the  rocky  shores,  the  battle  fields,  and  the  intrepid  coun- 
cils of  the  Atlantic  coast.  These  are  placed  beyond  Iba 
reach  of  vicissitude.  They  have  become  already  matter  of 
history,  of  poetry,  of  eloquence. 

E.    EVERETT, 


CXll.— Sl'EECII  OF  JAMES  OTIS. 

1.  England  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the  Nile 
with  bulrushes,  as  to  fetter  the  step  of  freedom,  more  proud 
and  firm  in  this  youthful  land,  than  where  she  treads  the 
sequestered  glens  of  Scotland,  or  couches  herself  among  the 
magnificent  mountains  of  Switzerland.  Arbitrary  principles, 
like  those  against  which  we  now  contend,  have  cost  one  king 
of  England  his  life,  another  his  crown,  and  they  may  yet 
cost  a  third  his  most  flourishing  colonies. 

2.  Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  '*  Are  the  Americans  too 
poor  to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper?"  No  I  Amer- 
ica, thanks  to  God  and  herself,  is  rich.  But  the  right  to 
take  ten  pounds,  implies  the  right  to  take  a  thousand ;  and 
what  must  be  the  wealth,  that  avarice,  aided  by  power,  can 
not  exhaust  I  True,  the  specter  is  now  small ;  but  the 
shadow  he  casts  before  him  is  huge  enough  to  darken  all 
this  fair  land  Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  im- 
mense debt  of  gratitude  which  we  owe  to  England.  And 
what  is  the  amount  of  this  debt?  Why,  truly  it  is  the  same 
that  the  young  lion  owes  to  the  dam,  which  has  brought  it 
forth  on  the  solitude  of  the  monnt-MM  -  v  '<-♦'  <>  •">:■!  ♦he 
winds  and  storms  of  the  desert 

3.  We  plunged  into  the  wave,  with  the  great  ciiarter  of 
freedom  in  our  teeth,  because  the  fagot  and  torch  were  be- 
hind us.  We  have  waked  the  new  world  from  its  savage 
lethariry:  forests  havo  bfi-n   prostrated  in   our  path:   towns 


2t58  ELOCUTION. 

and  cities  have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowers  of  th« 
tropics,  and  the  fires  iu  our  autumnal  woods  are  scarcely 
more  rapid  than  the  increase  of  our  wealth  and  population. 
And  do  we  owe  all  this  to  the  kind  succor  of  the  mother 
country?  Nol  we  owe  it  to  the  tyranny  that  drove  us  from 
her,  to  the  pelting  storms  which  invigorated  our  helplcM 
infancy. 


CXIII.— THE  AGE  OF  REASON. 

1.  Gentlemen,  I  have  no  objection  to  the  most  ex- 
tended and  free  discussion  upon  doctrinal  points  of  the 
Christian  religion  ;  and,  though  the  law  of  England  does 
not  permit  it,  I  do  not  dread  the  reasonings  of  deists 
against  the  existence  of  Christianity  itself,  because,  as  it 
was  said  by  its  divine  author,  if  it  be  of  God,  it  will  stand. 
An  intellectual  book,  however  erroneous,  addressed  to  the 
intellectual  world  upon  so  profound  and  complicated  a  sub- 
ject, can  never  work  the  mischief  it  is  calculated  to  repress. 
Such  works  will  only  incite  the  minds  of  men,  enlightened 
Dy  study,  to  a  closer  investigation  of  a  subject  well  worthy 
of  their  deepest  and  continued  contemplation.  The  pow- 
ers of  the  mind  are  given  for  human  improvement  in  the 
progress  of  human  existence.  The  changes  produced  by 
such  reciprocations  of  lights  and  intelligences  are  certain 
in  their  progression,  and  make  their  way  imperceptibly  by 
the  final  and  irresistible  power  of  truth. 

2.  If  Christianity  be  founded  in  falsehood,  let  us  become 
deists  in  this  manner,  and  I  am  contented.  But  thTfe  book 
has  no  such  object  and  no  such  capacity ;  it  presents  no 
arguments  to  the  wise  and  enlightened  ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  treats  the  faith  and  opinions  of  the  wisest  with  the  most 
ghorking  contempt,  and  stirs  up  men,  without  the  advan- 
tages of  learning  or  sober  thinking,  to  a  total  disbelief  of 
every  thing  hitherto  held  sacred ;  and  consequently  to  a 
rejection  of  all  the  laws  and  ordinances  of  the  State,  which 
stand  only  upon  the  assumption  of  their  truth. 

3.  Gentlemen,  I  can  not  conclude  without  expressing  the 


SENATORIAL.  2G9 

deepest  regret  at  all  the  attacks  upon  the  Christian  religion 
by  authors  who  profess  to  promote  the  civil  liberties  of  the 
world.  For  under  what  other  auspices  than  Christianity 
have  the  lost  and  subverted  liberties  of  mankind  in  former 
ages  been  reasserted  ?  By  what  zeal,  but  the  warm  zeal 
of  devout  Christians,  have  English  liberties  been  redeemed 
and  consecrated?  Under  what  other  sanctions,  even  in 
our  own  days,  have  liberty  and  happiness  been  spreading 
to  the  uttermost  corners  of  the  earth?  What  work  of  civ- 
ilization, what  commonwealth  of  greatness,  has  this  bald 
religion  of  nature  ever  established? 

4.  We  see,  on  the  contrary,  those  nations  that  have  no 
other  light  than  that  of  nature  to  direct  them,  sunk  in  bar- 
barism, or  slaves  to  arbitrary  governments;  while  under  the 
Christian  dispensation  the  great  career  of  the  world  has 
been  slowly  but  clearly  advancing,  lighter  at  every  step, 
from  the  encouraging  prophecies  of  the  Gospel,  and  lead- 
ing, I  trust,  in  the  end,  to  universal  and  eternal  happiness. 
Each  generation  of  mankind  can  see  but  a  few  revolving 
links  of  this  mighty  and  mysterious  chain  ;  but  by  doing 
our  several  duties  in  our  alloted  stations,  we  are  sure  that 
we  are  fulfilling  the  purposes  of  our  existence. 

ERSKINE. 


CXIV.— REPLY  TO  MR.  CORRY. 

1.  IIas  the  gentleman  done?  has  he  completely  done? 
He  was  unparliamentary  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
his  speech.  There  was  scarce  a  word  he  uttered  that  was 
not  a  violation  of  the  privileges  of  the  house.  But  I  did 
not  call  him  to  order — why?  because  the  limited  talents  of 
some  men  render  it  impossible  for  them  to  bo  severe  with- 
out being  unniiliaiMcntary.  But  before  I  sit  down,  1  shal. 
ehow  him  li  severe  and  parliamentary  at  the  same 
time. 

2.  On  any  other  occasion,  I  should  think  myself  justifi 
able  in  treating  with  silent  contempt  any  thing  which  might 
fall  from  that  honornblf  member;  but  thero  nr(!  limes  when 

ignificanr  accuser  is  lo-  magnitude 


270  ELOCUTION. 

of  the  accusation.  I  know  tho  difficulty  the  honorable  gen- 
tleman labored  under  when  he  attacked  me,  conscious  that, 
on  a  comparative  view  of  our  characters,  public  and  private, 
there  is  nothing  he  could  say  which  would  injure  me.  The 
public  would  not  believe  the  charge.  1  despise  the  false- 
hood. If  such  a  charge  were  made  by  an  honest  man,  I 
would  answer  it  in  the  manner  I  shall  do  before  I  sit 
down.  But  I  shall  first  reply  to  it,  when  not  made  by  an 
honest  man. 

3.  The  right  honorable  gentleman  has  called  me  'an 
unimpeached  traitor."  I  ask  why  not  *'  traitor,"  unquali- 
fied by  an  epithet?  I  will  tell  him — it  was  because  he 
durst  not.  It  was  the  act  of  a  coward  who  raises  his  arm 
to  strike,  but  has  not  the  courage  to  give  the  blow.  I  will 
not  call  him  villain,  because  it  would  be  unparliamentary, 
and  he  is  a  privy  counselor.  I  will  not  call  him  fool,  be- 
cause he  happens  to  be  chancellor  of  the  exchequer.  But 
I  say,  he  is  one  who  has  abused  the  privilege  of  parlia- 
ment, and  freedom  of  debate,  by  uttering  language,  which, 
if  spoken  out  of  the  house,  I  should  answer  only  with  a 
blow.  I  care  not  how  high  his  situation,  how  low  his 
character,  how  contemptible  his  speech ;  whether  a  privy 
counselor  or  a  parasite — my  answer  would  be  a  blow. 

4.  He  has  charged  me  with  being  connected  with  tho 
rebels.  The  charge  is  utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false. 
Docs  the  honorable  gentleman  rely  on  the  report  of  the 
house  of  lords  for  the  foundation  of  his  assertion  ?  If  he 
does,  I  can  prove  to  the  committee,  that  there  was  a  physical 
impossibility  of  that  report  being  true.  But  I  scorn  to 
answer  any  man  for  my  conduct,  whether  he  be  a  political 
coxcomb,  or  whether  he  brought  himself  into  power  by  a 
false  glare  of  courage  or  not.  grattan. 


CXV.— ON  SUDDEN  POLITICAL  CONVERSIONS. 

1.  Mr.  President,  public  men  must  certainly  be  allowed 
to  change  their  opinions,  and  their  associations,^whencver 
they  see  fit.  No  one  doubts  this.  Men  may  have  grown 
wiser — they  may  have  attained  to  better  and  more  correct 


SENATORIAL.  271 

views  of  great  public  subjects.  Nevertheless,  sir,  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  that  what  appears  to  be  a  sudden,  as  well 
as  a  great  change,  naturally  produces  a  shock.  I  confess, 
for  one,  I  was  shocked,  when  the  honorable  gentleman,  at 
the  last  session,  espoused  this  bill  of  the  administration. 
Sudden  movements  of  the  affections,  whether  personal  or 
folitical,  are  a  little  out  of  nature. 

2.  Several  years  ago,  sir,  some  of  the  wits  of  England 
wrote  a  mock  play,  intended  to  ridicule  the  unnatural  and 
false  feeliog — the  sentimentality  of  a  certain  German  school 
of  literature.  In  this  play  two  strangers  were  brought  to- 
gether at  an  inn.  While  they  are  warming  themselves  at 
the  fire,  and  before  their  acquaintance  is  yet  five  minutes 
old,  one  springs  up  and  exclaims  to  the  other,  "  A  sudden 
thought  strikes  me! — let  us  swear  an  eternal  friendship!" 

3.  This  affectionate  offer  was  instantly  accepted,  and  the 
friendship  duly  sworn,  unchangeable  and  eternal !  Now, 
sir,  how  long  this  eternal  friendship  lasted,  or  in  what 
manner  it  ended,  those  who  wish  to  know  may  learn  by 
referring  to  the  play.  But  it  seems  to  me,  sir,  that  the 
honorable  member  has  carried  his  political  sentimentality  a 
good  deal  higher  than  the  flight  of  the  German  school  ; 
for  he  appears  to  have  fallen  suddenly  in  love,  not  with 
strangers,  but  with  opponents.  Here  we  all  had  been,  sir, 
contending  against  the  progress  of  executive  power,  and 
more  particularly,  and  most  strenuously  against  the  projects 
and  experiments  of  the  administration  upon  the  currency. 
The  honorable  member  stood  among  us,  not  only  as  an 
associate,  but  as  a  leader.  We  thought  we  were  making 
some  headway.  The  people  appeared  to  be  coming  to  our 
support  and  our  assistance.  The  country  had  been  roused; 
every  successive  election  weakening  the  strength  of  the  ad* 
rersary,  and  increasing  our  own. 

4.  Wo  were  in  this  career  of  success,  carried  strongty 
forward  by  the  current  of  public  opinion,  and  only  needed 
CO  hear  the  cheering  voice  of  the  honorable  member— 

"Once  more  to  the  breach,  dear  fViends,  once  morel" 

tnd  we  should  have  prostrated,  forever,  this  anti-constiin 


If/L'  K  LOCUTION. 

tional,  anti-commercial,  anti-republican,  and  anti-American 
policy  of  the  administration.  But,  instead  of  these  encour- 
aging and  animating  accents,  behold!  in  the  very  crisis  of 
our  affairs,  on  the  very  eve  of  victory,  the  honorable  mem- 
her  cries  out  to  the  enemy — not  to  us,  his  allies,  but  to  the 
enemy — "  Holloa  !  a  sudden  thought  strikes  me  ! — I  aban- 
don my  allies !  Now  I  think  of  it,  they  have  always  been 
my  oppressors  !  I  abandon  them  ;  and  now  let  you  and  me 
swear  an  eternal  friendship!" 

5.  Such  a  proposition,  from  such  a  quarter,  sir,  was  not 
likely  to  be  long  withstood.  The  other  party  was  a  little 
coy,  but,  upon  the  whole,  nothing  loath.  After  a  proper 
hesitation,  and  a  little  decorous  blushing,  it  owned  the  soft 
impeachment,  admitted  an  equally  sudden  sympathetic  im- 
pulse on  its  own  side ;  and,  since  few  words  are  wanted 
where  hearts  are  already  known,  the  honorable  gentleman 
takes  his  place  among  his  new  friends,  amid  greetings  and 
caresses,  and  is  already  enjoying  the  sweets  of  an  eternal 
friendship.  webster. 


CXVI.— INVECTIVE  AGAINST  WARREN  HASTINGS. 

1.  Before  I  come  to  the  last  magnificent  paragraph,  let 
me  call  the  attention  of  those  who,  possibly,  think  them- 
selves capable  of  judging  of  the  dignity  and  character  of 
justice  in  this  country — let  me  call  the  attention  of  thos< 
who,  arrogantly  perhaps,  presume  that  they  understand  whai 
the  features,  what  the  duties  of  justice  are  here  and  in  India 
— let  them  learn  a  lesson  from  this  great  statesman,  this  en- 
larged, this  liberal  philosopher  :  "  I  hope  I  shall  not  depart 
from  the  simplicity  of  official  language,  in  saying,  that  the 
majesty  of  justice  ought  to  be  approached  with  solicitation, 
not  descend  to  provoke  or  invite  it,  much  less  to  debase 
itself  by  the  suggestion  of  wrongs,  and  the  promise  of  re- 
dress, with  the  denunciation  of  punishment  before  trial,  and 
even  before  accusation."  This  is  the  exhortation  Mr.  Hus- 
tings makes  to  his  counsel.  This  is  the  character *which  he 
gives  o^   British  justice. 


SENATORIAL.  27'3 

2.  But   I  will  ask   your  lordships,  do   you   ayprove  this 
cprcsentation  ?     Do  you  feel  that  this  is  the  true  image  of 

justice?  Is  this  the  character  of  British  justice?  Aro 
these  her  features?  Is  this  her  countenance?  Is  this  her 
gait  or  her  mien  ?  No  ;  I  think  even  now  I  hear  you  calling 
upon  me  to  turn  from  this  vile  libel,  this  base  caricature, 
this  Indian  pagod,  formed  of  guilty  and  knavish  tyranny 
to  dupe  the  heart  of  ignorance — to  turn  from  this  deformed 
idol,  to  the  true  majesty  of  justice  here.  Here,  indeed,  I 
see  a  different  form,  enthroned  by  the  sovereign  hand  of 
freedom — awful,  without  severity  —  commanding,  without 
pride — vigilant  and  active,  without  restlessness  or  suspicion 
— searching  and  inquisitive,  without  meanness  or  debase- 
ment— not  arrogantly  scorning  to  stoop  to  the  voice  of  af- 
flicted innocence,  and  in  its  loveliest  attitude  when  bend- 
ing to  uplift  the  suppliant  at  its  feet. 

3.  It  is  by  the  majesty,  by  the  form  of  that  justice,  that 
I  do  conjure  and  implore  your  lordships  to  give  your  minds 
to  this  great  business;  that  I  exhort  you  to  look,  not  so 
much  to  words,  which  may  be  denied  or  quibbled  away,  but 
to  the  plain  facts — to  weigh  and  consider  the  testimony  in 
your  own  minds ;  we  know  the  result  must  be  inevitable. 
Let  the  truth  appear,  and  our  cause  is  gained.  It  is  this, 
I  conjure  your  lordship,  for  your  own  honor,  for  the  honor 
of  the  nation,  for  the  honor  of  human  nature,  now  entrusted 
to  your  care — it  is  this  duty  that  the  commons  of  England, 
speaking  through  us,  claim  at  your  hands. 

4.  They  exhort  you  to  it  by  every  thing  that  calls  sub- 
limely upon  the  heart  of  man — by  the  majesty  of  that 
justice  which  this  bold  man  has  libeled — by  the  wide  fame 
of  your  own  tribunal — by  the  sacred  pledge  by  which  you 
swear  in  the  solemn  hour  of  decision  ;  knowini:  that  that 
decision  will  then  bring  you  the  highest  reward  that  ever 
blessed  the  heart  of  man — the  consciousness  of  having 
done  the  greatest  act  of  mercy  for  the  world,  that  the 
earth  has  ever  yet  received  from  any  hand  but  hearen 
My  lords,  I  have  done. 

8UEBIDAN 


274  ELOCUTION. 

CXVII.— POPULAR  ELECTIONS. 

1.  iSiR,  if  there  is  any  spectacle  from  the  contemplation 
ol'  which  I  would  shrink  with  peculiar  horror,  it  would  be 
that  of  the  great  mass  of  the  American  people  sunk  into  a 
profound   apathy  on  the  subject  of  their  highest  political 

nlcrests.  Such  a  spectacle  would  be  more  portentous  to  the 
eye  of  intelligent  patriotism,  than  all  the  monsters  of  th« 
earth,  and  fiery  signs  of  the  heavens,  to  the  eye  of  trembling 
iuperstition.  If  the  people  could  be  indiflfcrent  to  the  fate 
of  a  contest  for  the  presidency,  they  would  be  unworthy  of 
freedom.  If  I  were  to  perceive  them  sinking  into  this  apathy, 
I  would  even  apply  the  power  of  political  galvanism,  if  such 
a  power  could  be  found,  to  rouse  them  from  their  fatal  le- 
thargy. 

2.  Keep  the  people  quiet !  Peace  !  peace  1  Such  are  the 
whispers  by  which  the  people  are  to  be  lulled  to  sleep,  in 
the  very  crisis  of  their  highest  concerns.  Sir,  "  you  make 
a  solitude,  and  call  it  peace!"  Peace?  'Tis  death!  Take 
away  all  interest  from  the  people,  in  the  election  of  their 
chief  ruler,  and  liberty  is  no  more.  What,  sir,  is  to  be  the 
consequence?  If  the  people  do  not  elect  the  president, 
somebody  must.  There  is  no  special  providence  to  decide 
the  question.  Who,  then,  is  to  make  the  election,  and  how 
will  it  operate?  You  throw  a  general  paralysis  over  the 
body  politic,  and  excite  a  morbid  action  in  particular  mem- 
bers. The  general  patriotic  excitement  of  the  people,  in 
relation  to  the  election  of  the  president,  is  as  essential  to 
the  health  and  energy  of  the  political  system,  as  circulation 
of  the  blood  is  to  the  health  and  energy  of  the  natural 
body.  Check  that  circulation,  and  you  inevitably  produce 
local  inflammation,  gangrene,  and  ultimately  death. 

3.  Make  the  people  indifferent,  destroy  their  legitimate 
influence,  and  you  communicate  a  morbid  violence  to  the 
eff"orts  of  those  who  are  ever  ready  to  assume  the  control 
of  such  afi'airs — the  mercenary  intriguers  and  interested 
oflice-hunters  of  the  country.  Tell  me  not,  sir,  of  popular 
violence  !  Show  me  a  hundred  political  factionists — men 
who  look  to  the  election  of  a  president  as  the  means  of  grat- 
ifying their  high  or  their  low  ambition — and  I  will  show 


SENATORIAL.  J<'; 

jvu  ibo  ^cry  materials  for  a  mob;  ready  for  any  desperate 
artvonture  connected  with  their  common  fortunes.  The 
reason  of  this  extraordinary  excitement  is  obvious.  It  is  a 
matter  of  self-interest,  of  personal  ambition.  The  people 
can  have  no  such  motives.  They  look  only  to  the  interest 
BDd  glory  of  the  country. 

GEORGE   m'DUFFIE. 


CXVIIL— ORATION  AGAINST  VERRES. 

1.  I  ASK  now,  Verres,  what  have  you  to  advance  against 
this  charge?  Will  you  pretend  to  deny  it?  Will  you  pre- 
tend that  any  thing  false,  that  even  any  thing  exaggerated 
is  alleged  against  you?  Had  any  prince,  or  any  state,  com- 
mitted the  same  outrage  against  the  privileges  of  Roman 
citizens,  should  we  not  think  we  had  sufficient  reason  for 
declaring  immediate  war  against  them?  What  punishment, 
then,  ought  to  be  inflicted  on  a  tyrannical  and  wicked  pre- 
tor,  who  dared,  at  no  greater  distance  than  Sicily,  within 
sight  of  the  Italian  coast,  to  put  to  the  infamous  death  of 
crucifixion  that  unfortunate  and  innocent  citizen,  Publius 
Gavius  Cosanus,  only  for  his  having  asserted  his  privilege 
of  citizenship,  and  declared  bis  intention  of  appealing  to 
the  justice  of  his  country  against  a  cruel  oppressor,  who 
had  unjustly  confined  him  in  prison  at  Syracuse,  whence  he 
bad  just  made  his  escape?  The  unhappy  man,  arrested  as 
he  was  going  to  embark  for  his  native  country,  is  brought 
before  the  wicked  pretor.  With  eyes  darting  fury,  and  a 
countenance  distorted  with  cruelty,  he  orders  the  helpless 
victim  of  his  rage  to  be  stripped,  and  rods  to  be  brought ; 
accusing  him,  but  without  the  least  shadow  of  evidence,  or 
even  of  suspicion,  of  having  come  to  Sicily  as  a  spy. 

2.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  unhappy  man  cried  out,  "  I  am 
a  Roman  citizen,  I  have  served  under  Lucius  Pretius,  who 
is  now  at  Panormus,  and  will  attest  my  innocence."  The 
bloodthirsty  pretor,  deaf  to  all  he  could  urge  in  his  own 
dr>frn<:o.  nrilnrod   the  infamous  punishment  to   be  inflicted. 

IS  an  innocent  Roman  citizen  publicly  man 


276  ELOCUTION. 

gled  with  scourging;  while  the  only  words  he  uttered  amid 
his  cruel  sufferings  were,  *'  I  am  a  Roman  citizen  !"  With 
these  he  hoped  to  defend  himself  from  violence  and  infamy. 
But  of  so  little  service  was  this  privilege  to  him,  that  while 
he  was  asserting  his  citizenship,  the  order  was  given  for  his 
execution — for  his  execution  upon  the  cross ! 

3.  O  liberty !  0  sound  once  deliglitful  to  every  Roman 
ear  I  0  sacred  privilege  of  Roman  citizenship !  once  sacred, 
now  trampled  upon !  But  what  then — is  it  come  to  this  ? 
Shall  an  inferior  magistrate,  a  governor,  who  holds  his  power 
of  the  Roman  people,  in  a  Roman  province,  within  sight  of 
Italy,  bind,  scourge,  torture  with  fire  and  red-hot  plates  of 
iron,  and  at  last  put  to  the  infamous  death  of  the  cross,  a 
Roman  citizen?  Shall  neither  the  cries  of  innocence  ex- 
piring in  agony,  nor  the  tears  of  pitying  spectators,  nor  the 
majesty  of  the  Roman  commonwealth,  nor  the  fear  of  the 
justice  of  his  country,  restrain  the  licentious  and  wanton 
cruelty  of  a  monster,  who,  in  confidence  of  his  riches,  strikes 
at  the  root  of  liberty  and  sets  mankind  at  defiance? 

CICERO. 


CXIX.— FROM  THE  FIRST  ORATION  AGAINST  CATILINE. 

1.  How  far  wilt  thou,  0  Catiline,  abuse  our  patience? 
How  long  shall  thy  madness  outbrave  our  justice?  To  what 
extremities  art  thou  resolved  to  push  thy  unbridled  inso- 
lence of  guilt !  Canst  thou  behold  the  nocturnal  arms  that 
watch  the  palatium,  the  guards  of  the  city,  the  consternation 
of  the  citizens ;  all  the  wise  and  worthy  clustering  into  con- 
sultation ;  this  impregnable  situation  of  the  seat  of  the 
senate,  and  the  reproachful  looks  of  the  fathers  of  Rome? 
35anst  thou,  I  say,  behold  all  this,  and  yet  remain  undaunted 
and  unabashed?  Art  thou  sensible  that  thy  measures  are 
detected  ? 

2.  Art  thou  sensible  that  this  senate,  now  thoroughly  in- 
formed, comprehend  the  full  extent  of  thy  guilt?  Point 
me  out  the  senator  ignorant  of  thy  practices,  during  the 
last  and  the  preceding  night :  of  the  T)lace  where  you  met, 


SENATORIAL.  277 

the  company  you  summoned,  and  the  crime  you  concerted. 
The  senate  is  conscious,  the  consul  is  witness  to  this  :  yet 
mean  and  degenerate — the  traitor  lives  !  Lives!  did  I  say? 
He  mixes  with  the  senate ;  he  shares  in  our  counsels  ;  with 
a  steady  eye  he  surveys  us;  he  anticipates  his  guilt;  he  en- 
joys his  murderous  thoughts,  and  coolly  marks  us  out  for 
bloodshed.  Yet  we,  boldly  passive  in  our  country's  cause, 
think  we  act  like  Romans  if  we  can  escape  his  frantic  rage. 

3.  Long  since,  0  Catiline!  ought  the  consul  to  have 
doomed  thy  life  a  forfeit  to  thy  country ;  and  to  have  di- 
rected upon  thy  own  head  the  mischief  thou  hast  long  been 
meditating  for  ours.  Could  the  noble  Scipio,  when  sovereign 
pontiff,  as  a  private  lloraan  kill  Tiberius  Gracchus  for  a 
slight  encroachment  upon  the  rights  of  this  country;  and 
shall  we,  her  consuls,  with  persevering  patience  endure  Cat- 
iline, whose  ambition  is  to  desolate  a  devoted  world  with 
fire  and  sword? 

4.  There  was — there  was  a  time,  when  such  was  the  spirit 
of  Rome,  that  the  resentment  of  her  magnanimous  sons 
more  sternly  crushed  the  Roman  traitor,  than  the  most  in- 
veterate enemy.  Strong  and  weighty,  0  Catiline !  is  the 
decree  of  the  senate  we  can  now  produce  against  you;  neither 
wisdom  is  wanting  in  this  state,  nor  authority  in  this  as- 
sembly ;   but  we,  the  consuls,  we  are  defective  in  our  duty. 

CICERO. 


v.AA. — ui-.tiiiA  r,u.vv/i    yjr    AiHENS. 

1.  Sl(I1,  0,  men  of  Athens!  were  your  ancestors:  so 
glorious  in  the  eye  of  the  world ;  so  bountiful  and  munifi- 
cent to  their  country ;  so  sparing,  so  modest,  so  self-deny 
ing,  to  themselves.  What  resemblance  can  we  find,  in  the 
present  generation,  to  these  great  men?  At  the  time  when 
your  ancient  competitors  have  left  you  a  clear  stage,  when 
the  Lacedemonians  arc  disabled,  the  Thebans  employed  in 
troubles  of  their  own,  when  no  other  state  whatever  is  in  a 
condition  to  rival  or  molest  you — in  short,  when  you  are 
at  full  liberty,  when  you  have  the  opportunity  and  the  powet 


*?78  ELOCUTION. 

to  become  once  more  the  sole  arbiters  of  Greece — you  per. 
mit,  patiently,  whole  provinces  to  be  wrested  from  you ;  you 
lavish  the  public  money  in  scandalous  and  obscure  uscsj 
you  suffer  your  allies  to  perish  in  time  of  peace,  whom  you 
praserved  in  time  of  war ;  and,  to  sum  up  all,  you  yourselves, 
by  your  mercenary  court,  and  servile  resignation  to  the  will 
and  pleasure  of  designing,  insidious  leaders,  abet,  cncour- 
•go,  and  strengthen,  the  most  dangerous  and  formidable  of 
your  enemies.  Yes,  Athenians,  I  repeat  it,  you  yourselves 
are  the  contrivers  of  your  own  ruin. 

2.  Lives  there  a  man  who  has  confidence  enough  to  deny 
it?  Let  him  arise  and  assign,  if  he  can,  any  other  cause 
of  the  success  and  prosperity  of  Philip.  "  But,"  you  reply, 
**  what  Athens  may  have  lost  in  reputation  abroad  she  has 
gained  in  splendor  at  home.  Was  there  ever  a  greater  ap- 
pearance of  prosperity  and  plenty?  Is  not  the  city  en- 
larged? Are  not  the  streets  better  paved,  houses  repaired 
and  beautified?"  Away  with  such  trifles!  Shall  I  be  paid 
with  counters?  An  old  square  new  vamped  up!  a  fountain! 
an  aqueduct!  Are  these  acquisitions  to  boast  of?  Cast 
your  eyes  upon  the  magistrate  under  whose  ministry  you 
boast  these  precious  improvements.  Behold  the  despicable 
creature,  raised  all  at  once  from  dirt  to  .opulence,  from  the 
lowest  obscurity  to  the  highest  honors.  Have  not  some  of 
these  upstarts  built  private  houses  and  seats  vying  with  the 
most  sumptuous  of  our  public  palaces?  And  how  have  their 
fortunes  and  their  power  increased,  but  as  the  common- 
wealth has  been  ruined  and  impoverished? 

DEMOSTHENES. 


CXXI.— ON  THE  REDUCTION  OF  THE  REVENUE. 

1.  The  sole  object  of  proclaiming  to  the  American  peo- 
ple the  unutterable  character  of  this  law,  was  to  quiet  the 
fearful  agitation  that  then  ever}^  where  prevailed.  What, 
sir,  were  the  happy,  the  glorious  eflfects  of  that  compromise? 
The  day  before  that  law  received  the  president's  approval 
was  overcast  with  the  gathering  cloud  of  civil  war,  deepen- 


8BNAT0KIAL.  279 

ing,  spreading,  and  blackening  every  hour.  The  ground 
on  which  we  stood  seemed  to  heave  and  quake  with  the 
first  throes  of  a  convulsion  that  was  to  rend  in  fragments 
the  last  republic  on  earth. 

2.  Are  we  prepared  now  to  break  the  bonds  of  peace  and 
renew  the  war?  I  have  said  you  have  the  power  to  do  so, 
but  I  deny  your  right.  I  do  not  measure  that  right  by  the 
standard  of  law  in  a  municipal  court.  I  can  not  conceive 
any  idea  more  ridiculous  or  contemptible,  than  that  which 
finds  no  standard  of  moral  and  political  duties  and  rights 
for  a  Christian,  a  private  gentleman,  or  a  statesman,  except 
that  which  is  applicable  to  a  contest  before  a  justice's  court, 
or  a  nisi  jyriiis  jury.  No,  sir,  I  appeal  to  a  law  in  the 
bosom  of  man  prior  and  paramount  to  this.  I  appeal  to 
the  South,  where  I  know  that  law  will  be  obeyed,  and  Avhere 
[  know  I  do  not  appeal  in  vain.  I  invoke  its  character- 
istic chivalry  ;  I  summon  to  my  aid  that  sensitive  honor 
which  feels  a  "stain  like  a  wound,"  which  abhors  deception 
and  shudders  at  violated  faith. 

3.  Will  that  South,  which  I  am  sure  I  have  truly  de- 
scribed, join  in  this  odious  infraction  of  its  own  treaty,  and 
unite  in  this  miserable  war  against  the  laboring  thousands 
who  have  their  all  in  its  securities? — a  war  not  waged  with 
open  force  and  strong  hand — a  war  not  waged  to  avenge 
insulted  honor,  but  to  recover  the  diflference  between  five 
and  ten  cents  duty  upon  a  yard  of  cotton.  I  repeat,  will 
they  engage  in  such  a  war?  Your  approach  to  this  battle 
is  not  heralded  by  the  trumpet's  voice;  no,  you  are  to  steal 
into  the  dwelling  of  the  poor,  and  boldly  capture  a  mechan- 
ic's dinner!  You  are  to  march  into  the  cottage  of  the 
widow  and  fearlessly  confiscntfi  the  breakfast  of  a  factory 
pirl,  for  the  benefit  of  the  planting  and  grain  growing 
states  of  this  mighty  republic  ! 

4.  How  little  do  they  who  have  presented  such  argu- 
ments as  these,  in  this  report,  know  of  the  people  of  the 
South  and  West.  The  hardy  race  that  have  subdued  the 
forests  of  the  West,  and  in  a  green  youth  have  constructed 
monuments  of  enterprise  that  shall  survive  the  Pyramids, 
is  not  likely  from  merely  sordid  motives,  to  join  in  inflict 


280  ELOCUTION. 

nig  a  great  evil  on  any  portion  of  our  common  country. 
The  fearless  pioneers  of  the  West,  whose  ears  arc  as  famil- 
iar  with  the  sharp  crack  of  the  Indian's  rifle,  and  his  wild 
war-whoop  at  midnight,  as  are  those  of  your  city  dan- 
dies with  the  dulcet  notes  of  the  harp  and  piano — they, 
sir,  are  not  the  men  to  act  upon  selfish  calculations  and 
sinister  inducements.  They  hold  their  rights  by  law,  and 
they  believe  that  compacts,  expressed  or  implied,  arising 
from  individual  engagements  or  public  law,  are  to  be  kept 
and  defended  with  their  lives,  if  need  be,  and  not  to  be 
broken  at  will,  or  regarded  as  the  proper  spirit  of  legisla- 
tive or  individual  caprice.  •  thos.  corwin. 


CXXn.— PATRIOTIC  SELF-SACRIFICE. 

1.  I  ROSE  not  to  say  one  word  which  should  wound  the 
feelings  of  the  president.  The  senator  says,  that,  if  placed 
in  like  circumstances,  I  would  have  been  the  last  man  to 
avoid  putting  a  direct  veto  upon  the  bill,  had  it  met  my 
disapprobation ;  and  he  does  me  the  honor  to  attribute  to 
me  high  qualities  of  stern  and  unbending  intrepidity.  I 
hope,  that  in  all  that  relates  to  personal  firmness,  all  that 
concerns  a  just  appreciation  of  the  insignificance  of  human 
life — whatever  may  be  attempted,  to  threaten  or  alarm  a  soul 
not  easily  swayed  by  opposition,  or  awed  or  intimidated  by 
menace — a  stout  heart  and  a  steady  eye,  that  can  survey, 
unmoved  and  undaunted,  any  mere  personal  perils  that 
assail  this  poor,  transient,  perishing  frame — I  may,  without 
disparagement,  compare  with  other  men. 

2.  But  there  is  a  sort  of  courage,  which,  I  frankly  con- 
fess I  do  not  possess;  a  boldness  to  which  I  dare  not  aspire; 
a  valor  which  I  can  not  covet.     I  can  not  lay  myself  down 

n    the  way  of  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  my  country. 

That  I  can  not,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  do.  I  can  not 
interpose  the  power  with  which  I  may  be  invested — a  power 
conferred,  not  for  my  personal  benefit,  nor  for  my  aggran- 
dizement, but  for  my  country's  good — to  check  her  onward 
march  to  greatness  and  calory.     I  have  not  courage  enough 


SENATORIAL.  281 

— r  am  too  cowardly,  for  that.  I  would  not,  I  dare  not,  in 
the  exercise  of  such  a  trust,  lie  down,  and  place  my  body 
across  the  path  that  leads  my  country  to  prosperity  and 
happiness.  This  is  a  sort  of  courage  widely  different  from 
that  which  a  man  may  display  in  his  private  conduct  and 
private  relations.  Personal  or  private  courage  is  totally  dis- 
tinct from  that  higher  and  nobler  courage  which  prompts 
the  patriot  to  offer  himself  ;i  voluntary  sacrifice  to  his 
country's  good. 

3.  Apprehension  of  the  iuipuiaiioii  of  the  want  of  firm-" 
ncss  sometimes  impels  to  the  performance  of  rash  and  in- 
considerate acts.  It  is  the  greatest  courage  to  be  able  to 
bear  the  imputation  of  the  want  of  courage.  But  pride, 
vanity,  egotism,  so  unaraiable  and  offensive  in  private  life, 
arc  vices  which  partake  of  the  character  of  crimes  in  the 
conduct  of  public  affairs.  The  unfortunate  victim  of  these 
passions  can  not  see  beyond  the  little,  petty,  contemptible 
circle  of  his  own  personal  interests.  All  his  thoughts  are 
withdrawn  from  his  country,  and  concentrated  on  his  con- 
sistency, his  firmness,  himself  The  high,  the  exalted,  the 
sublime  emotions  of  a  patriotism,  which,  soaring  toward 
heaven,  rises  far  above  all  mean,  low,  or  selfish  things,  and 
is  absorbed  by  one  soul-transporting  thought  of  the  good 
and  the  glory  of  one's  country,  are  never  felt  in  his  im- 
penetrable bosom.  That  patriotism  which,  catching  its  in- 
spirations from  the  immortal  God,  and  leaving  at  an  im- 
measurable distance  below  all  lesser,  groveling,  personal 
interests  and  feelings,  animates  and  prompts  to  deeds  of 
self-sacrifice,  of  valor,  of  devotion,  and  of  death  itself — that 
is  public  virtue ;  that  is  the  noblest,  the  subliiiioot  of  all 
public  virtues  I  ueney  clat. 


CXXIII.— SOUTH  CAROLINA  AND  MASSACHUSETTS. 

1.  The  culoginm  pronounced  on  the  charMter  of  the 
itate  of  South  Carolina,  by  the  honorable  gentleman,  for 
her  revolutionary  and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty  con- 

t'ur. MM ,        r    sh.ill    tiot   acknowledge    that    tlit^    ^   !.(>rabltf 


282  ELOCUTION. 

member  ofore  me  in  rega:  latevcr  of*  distm 

guishcd  talents,  or  distinguisHcd  charactiir,  South  Carolina 
has  produced.  I  claim  part  of  the  honor,  I  partake  in  the 
pride  of  her  great  names.  I  claim  them  for  countrymen, 
one  and  all.  The  Laurenscs,  the  Rutlcdgcs,  the  Pinck- 
ncys,  the  Sumpters,  the  Marions — Americans  all — whose 
fame  is  no  more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  state  lines  than  their 
talents  and  patriotism  were  capable  of  being  circumscribed 
within  the  same  narrow  limits.  In  their  day  and  genera- 
tion, they  served  and  honored  the  country,  and  the  whole 
country ;  and  their  renown  is  of  the  treasures  of  the  whole 
country.  Him  whose  honored  name  the  gentleman  himself 
bears — does  he  suppose  me  less  capable  of  gratitude  for  his 
patriotism,  or  sympathy  for  his  sufferings,  than  if  his  eyes 
had  first  opened  upon  the  light  in  Massachusetts,  instead 
of  South  Carolina?  Sir,  does  he  suppose  it  is  in  his  power 
to  exhibit  a  Carolina  name  so  bright  as  to  produce  envy  in 
my  bosom?  No,  sir;  increased  gratification  and  delight, 
rather. 

2.  Sir,  I  thank  God,  that,  if  I  am  gifted  with  little  of  the 
spirit  which  is  said  to  be  able  to  raise  mortals  to  the  skies,  I 
have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that  other  spirit,  which  would 
drag  angels  down.  "When  I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place 
here  in  the  senate,  or  elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit,  be- 
cause it  happens  to  spring  up  beyond  the  little  limits  of  my 
own  state  or  neighborhood ;  when  I  refuse,  for  any  such 
cause,  or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due  to  American  talent, 
to  elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere  devotion  to  liberty  and  the 
country  ;  or,  if  I  see  an  uncommon  endowment  of  heaven 
— if  I  see  extraordinary  capacity  and  virtue  in  any  son  of 
the  South — and  if,  moved  by  local  prejudices,  or  gangrened 
by  state  jealousy,  I  get  up  here  to  abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair 
from  his  just  character  and  just  fame,  may  my  tongue  cleave 
to  the  roof  of  my  mouth  !  Sir,  let  me  recur  to  pleasing 
recollections  ;  let  me  indulge  in  refreshing  remembrance 
of  the  past ;  let  me  remind  you  that,  in  early  time?,  no 
states  cherished  greater  harmony,  both  of  principle  and  feel- 
ing, than  Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina.  Would  to 
€rod  that  harmony  might  again  return  !     Shoulder  to  shoul- 


SENATORIAL.  283 

dci  tlioy  went  through  the  Kevolution  ;  hand  in  hand  they 
8tood  round  the  administration  of  Washington,  and  felt  his 
own  great  arm  lean  on  them  for  support.  Unkind  feeling, 
if  it  exist — alienation  and  distrust — are  the  growth,  unnat- 
ural to  such  soils,  of  false  principles  since  sown.  They 
are  weeds,  the  seeds  of  which  that  same  great  arm  never 
scattered. 

3.  Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon 
Massachusetts — she  needs  none.  There  she  is — behold  her, 
and  judge  for  yourselves.  There  is  her  history — the  world 
knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  is 
Boston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Ilill — 
and  there  they  will  remain  forever.  The  bones  of  her  sons, 
fallen  in  the  great  struggle  for  Independence,  now  lie  min- 
gled with  the  soil  of  every  state  from  New  England  to  Georgia 
— and  there  they  will  lie  forever.  And,  sir,  where  Ameri 
can  liberty  raised  its  first  voice,  and  where  its  youth  was 
nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives,  in  the  strength 
of  its  manhood,  and  full  of  its  original  spirit.  If  discord  and 
disunion  shall  wound  it — if- party  strife  and  blind  ambition 
shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it — if  folly  and  madness,  if  uneasi- 
ness under  salutary  and  necessary  restraints,  shall  succeed 
to  separate  it  from  that  Union  by  which  alone  its  existence 
is  made  sure — it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by  the  side  of  that 
cradle  in  which  its  infancy  was  rocked;  it  will  stretch  forth 
it«  arm,  with  whatever  vigor  it  may  still  retain,  over  the 
friends  who  gather  round  it;  and  it  will  fall  at  last,  if  fall 
it  must,  amid  the  proudest  monuments  of  its  own  glory, 
und  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin  !  WEBSTeV 


CXXIV.— THE  PASSING  OF  THE  RUBICON. 

1.  A  GE.NTLEMAN,  Mr.  President,  speaking  of  Caesar's  be- 
nevolent disposition,  and  of  the  reluctance  with  which  he 
had  entered  into  the  civil  war,  observes,  "How  long  did  ho 
pause  upon  the  brink  of  the  Rubicon?"  How  came  ho  to 
the  brink  of  that  river  I  How  dared  he  cross  it!  Shall 
(•rival*  *      boundaries  of  private  property    'and 


284  ELOCUTION. 

slial)  a  man  pay  no  respect  to  the  boundaries  of  his  coun* 
try's  rights?  How  dared  he  cross  that  river!  Oh,  but  he 
paused  upon  the  brinlc!  lie  should  have  perished  upon 
the  brink  ere  he  had  crossed  it!  Why  did  he  pause?  Why 
does  a  man's  heart  palpitate  when  he  is  on  the  point  of 
committing  an  unlawful  deed?  Why  does  the  very  mur- 
derer, his  victim  sleeping  before  him,  and  his  glaring  eye 
taking  the  measure  of  the  blow,  strike  wide  of  the  mortal 
part?  Because  of  conscience!  'Twas  that  made  Caesar 
pause  upon  the  brink  of  the  Rubicon.  Compassion  !  What 
compassion?  The  compassion  of  an  assassin,  that  feels  a 
momentary  shudder  as  his  weapon  begins  to  cut! 

2.  Caesar  paused  upon  the  brink  of  the  Rubicon!  What 
was  the  Rubicon?  The  boundary  of  Caesar's  province. 
From  what  did  it  separate  his  province?  From  his  country. 
Was  that  country  a  desert?  No;  it  was  cultivated  and  fer- 
tile, rich  and  populous !  Its  sons  were  men  of  genius,  spirit, 
iud  generosity  I  Its  daughters  were  lovely,  susceptible,  and 
jhaste  !  Friendship  was  its  inhabitant!  Love  was  its  in- 
habitant! Domestic  affection  was  its  inhnbitant!  Liberty 
was  its  inhabitant !  All  bounded  by  the  stream  of  the 
Rubicon  !  What  was  Caesar,  that  stood  upon  the  bank  of 
that  stream?  A  traitor,  bringing  war  and  pestilence  into 
the  heart  of  that  country.  No  wonder  that  he  paused — no 
wonder  if,  his  imagination  wrought  upon  by  his  conscience, 
he  had  beheld  blood  instead  of  water,  and  heard  groans 
instead  of  murmurs  !  No  wonder,  if  some  gorgon  horror 
had  turned  him  into  stone  upon  the  spot !  But,  no ! — he 
cried,  "The  die  is  cast!"  He  plunged! — he  crossed! — and 
Rome  was  free  no  more!  knowles. 


CXX v.— NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

1.  If  Napoleon's  fortune  was  great,  his  genius  was  trans- 
cendent; decision  flashed  upon  his  counsels;  and  it  was  the 
same  to  decide  and  to  perform.  To  inferior  intellects,  his 
combinations  appeared  perfectly  impossible,  his  plans  per- 
fectly impracticable;  but,  in  his  hands,  simplicity  marked 
their  development,  and  success  vindicated  their  adoption 


SENATORIAL.  285 

2.  His  person  partook  the  character  of  his  mind — if  the 
one  never  yielded  in  the  cabinet,  the  other  never  bent  in 
the  field.  Nature  had  no  obstacles  that  he  did  not  surmount 
— space  no  opposition  that  he  did  not  spurn  ;  and  whether 
amid  Alpine  rocks,  Arabian  sands,  or  polar  snows,  he 
seemed  proof  against  peril,  and  empowered  with  ubiquity  I 
The  whole  continent  of  Europe  trembled  at  beholding  the 
audacity  of  his  designs,  and  the  miracle  of  their  execution. 
Skepticism  bowed  to  the  prodigies  of  his  performance;  ro- 
mance assumed  the  air  of  history ;  nor  was  there  aught  too 
incredible  for  belief,  or  too  fanciful  for  expectation,  when 
the  world  saw  a  subaltern  of  Corsica  waving  his  imperial 
flag  over  her  most  ancient  capitals.  All  the  visions  of 
antiquity  became  common  places  in  his  contemplation; 
kings  were  his  people — nations  were  his  outposts ;  and  he 
disposed  of  courts,  and  crowns,  and  camps,  and  churches, 
and  cabinets,  as  if  they  were  the  titular  dignitaries  of  the 
chess-board ! 

3.  Through  the  pantomime  of  his  policy,  fortune  played 
the  clown  to  his  caprices.  At  his  touch,  crowns  crumbled, 
beggars  reigned,  systems  vanished,  the  wildest  thbories  took 
the  color  of  his  whim,  and  all  that  was  vcnferable,  and  all 
that  was  novel,  changed  places  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
drama.  Even  apparent  defeat  assumed  the  appearance  of 
victory — his  flight  from  Egypt  confirmed  his  destiny — ruin 
itself  only  elevated  him  to  empire.  Amid  all  these  changes 
he  stood  immutable  as  adamant.  It  mattered  little  whether 
in  the  field  or  the  drawing  room — with  the  mob  or  the 
levee — wearing  the  Jacobin  bonnet  or  the  iron  crown — 
banishing  a  Braganza,  or  espousing  a  Uapsburg — dictating 
peace  on  a  raft  to  the  czar  of  Russia,  or  contemplating  de- 
feat at  the  gallows  of  Leipsic — ho  was  still  the  same  mili- 
tary despot!  PHILLIPS 


CXXVI.— THE  STABILITY  OF  OUR  GOVERNMENT. 

1.  If  there  be  on  the  earth  one  nation  more  than  auother* 
whoRe  institutions  must  draw  their  life-blood  from  the  indi- 


286  ELOCUTION. 

vidual  purity  of  its  citizens,  that  nation  is  our  own.  Ruler* 
by  divine  right,  and  nobles  by  hereditary  succession,  may, 
perhaps,  tolerate  with  impunity  those  depraving  indulgeucea 
which  keep  the  great  mass  abject.  Where  the  many  enjoy 
little  or  no  power,  it  were  a  trick  of  policy  to  wink  at  those 
enervating  vices,  which  would  rob  them  of  both  the  ability 
and  the  inclination  to  enjoy  it.  But  in  our  country,  where 
almost  every  man,  however  humble,  bears  to  the  omnipo- 
tent ballot-box  his  full  portion  of  the  sovereignty — where  at 
regular  periods  the  ministers  of  authority,  who  went  forth 
to  rule,  return  to  be  ruled,  and  lay  down  their  dignities  at 
the  feet  of  the  monarch  multitude — where,  in  short,  public 
sentiment  is  the  absolute  lever  that  moves  the  political 
world,  the  purity  of  the  people  is  the  rock  of  political 
safety. 

2.  We  may  boast,  if  we  please,  of  our  exalted  privileges, 
and  fondly  imagine  that  they  will  be  eternal;  but  when- 
ever those  vices  shall  abound,  which  undeniably  tend  to  de- 
basement, steeping  the  poor  and  ignorant  still  lower  in  pov- 
erty and  ignorance,  and  thereby  destroying  that  wholesome 
mental  eq&ality  which  can  alone  sustain  a  self-ruled  people, 
it  will  be  fourid,  by  woful  experience,  that  our  happy  sys- 
tem of  government,  the  best  ever  devised  for  the  intelligent 
and  good,  is  the  very  worst  to  be  intrusted  to  the  degraded 
and  vicious.  The  great  majority  will  then  truly  become  a 
many-headed  monster,  to  be  tamed  and  led  at  will.  The 
tremendous  power  of  suffrage,  like  the  strength  of  the  eye- 
less Nazarite,  so  far  from  being  their  protection,  will  but 
serve  to  pull  down  upon  their  heads  the  temple  their  ances- 
tors reared  for  them. 

3.  Caballers  and  demagogues  will  find  it  an  easy  task  to 
delude  those  who  have  deluded  themselves;  and  the  freedom 
of  the  people  will  finally  be  buried  in  the  grave  of  their  vir- 
tues. National  greatness  may  survive ;  splendid  talents  and 
brilliant  honors  may  fling  their  delusive  luster  abroad — these 
may  illume  the  darkness  that  hangs  round  the  throne  of  a 
monarch,  but  their  light  will  be  like  the  baleful  flame  that 
hovers  over  decaying  mortality,  and  tells  of  the  corruption 
that  festers  beneath.     Tbc  immortal  spirit  will  have  gone  ; 


SENATORIAL.  287 

and  along  our  shores,  and  among  our  hills — those  shores 
made  sacred  by  the  sepulcher  of  the  pilgrim,  those  hills 
hallowed  by  the  uncoffined  bones  of  the  patriot — even  there, 
in  the  ears  of  their  degenerate  descendants,  shall  ring  the 
last  knell  of  departed  liberty !  c.  sprague. 


CXX VII.— AGAINST  CURTAILING  THE  RIGHT  OF  SUFFRAGE. 

1 .  Gentlemen  : — I  address  the  men  who  govern  us,  and 
say  to  them — Go  on,  cut  off  three  millions  of  voters;  cut 
off  eight  out  of  nine,  and  the  result  will  be  the  same  to 
you,  if  it  be  not  more  decisive.  What  you  do  not  cut  off, 
is  your  own  fault ;  the  absurdities  of  your  policy  of  com- 
pression, your  fatal  incapacity,  your  ignorance  of  the  present 
epoch,  the  antipathy  that  you  feel  for  it,  and  that  it  feejs 
for  you ;  what  you  will  not  cut  off,  is  the  times  which  are 
advancing,  the  hour  now  striking,  the  ascending  movement 
of  ideas,  the  gulf  opening  broader  and  deeper  between  your- 
self and  the  age,  between  the  young  generation  and  you, 
between  the  spirit  of  i;i  ■>••♦'•  n^fl  you,  between  the  spirit  of 
philosophy  and  you. 

*2.  What  you  will  nut  cut  off,  is  this  immense  fact,  that 
the  nation  goes  to  one  side,  while  you  go  to  the  other;  that 
what  for  you  is  the  sunrise,  is  for  it  the  sun's  setting;  that 
you  turn  your  backs  to  the  future,  while  this  great  people 
of  France,  its  front  all  radiant  with  light  from  the  rising 
dawn  of  a  new  humanity,  turns  its  back  to  the  past.  Gen- 
tlemen, this  law  is  invalid;  it  is  null ;  it  is  dead  even  before 
it  exists.  And  do  you  know  what  has  killed  it?  It  is  that, 
when  it  meanly  approaches  to  steal  the  vote  from  the  pocket 
of  the  poor  and  feeble,  it  meets  the  keen,  terrible  eye  of 
the  national  probity,  a  devouring  light,  in  which  the  work 
of  darkness  disappears. 

3.  Yes,  men  who  govern  us,  at  the  bottom  of  every  citi 
ten's  conscience,  the  most  obscure  as  well  as  the  greatest, 
at  the  very  depths  of  the  soul — I  use  your  own  expression — 
of  the  last  beggar,  the  last  vagabond,  there  is  a  sentiment, 
sublime,  sacred,  insurmountable,  indestructible,  eternal — 
the   sentiment,  whir-h    is   the  very  essence  of  tli.>    lunnaD 


288  ELOCUTION. 

cunscienco,  which  the  Scriptures  call  the  corDcr-stone  of 
justice,  is  the  rock  on  which  iniquities,  hypocrisies,  bad 
laws,  evil  designs,  bad  governments,  fall  and  are  shipwrecked. 
This  is  the  hidden,  irresistible  obstacle  vailed  in  the  recesses 
of  every  mind,  but  ever  present,  ever  active,  on  which  you 
will  always  exhaust  yourselves ;  and  which,  whatever  you 
do,  you  will  never  destroy.  I  warn  you,  your  labor  is  lost; 
you  will  not  extinguish  it,  you  will  not  confuse  it.  Far 
easier  to  drag  the  rock  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  than 
the  sentiment  of  right  from  the  heart  of  the  people ! 

VICTOR   HUGO. 


CXXVm.— TO  THE  A.MERICAN  TROOPS  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE 
OF  IX)NG  ISLAND,  177G. 

1.  The  time  is  now  near  at  hand  which  must  probably 
determine  whether  Americans  are  to  be  freemen  or  slaves ; 
whether  they  are  to  have  any  property  they  can  call  their 
own  ;  and  whether  their  houses  and  farms  are  to  be  pillaged 
and  destroyed,  and  themselves  consigned  to  a  state  of  wretch- 
edness from  which  no  human  efforts  will  deliver  them.  The 
fate  of  unborn  millions  will  now  depend,  under  God,  on  the 
courage  and  conduct  of  this  array.  Our- cruel  and  unrelen- 
ting enemy  leaves  us  only  the  choice  of  a  brave  resistance, 
or  the  most  abject  submission.  We  have,  therefore,  to  re- 
solve to  conquer  or  to  die. 

2.  Our  own,  our  country's  honor,  calls  upon  us  for  a 
vigorous  and  manly  exertion ;  and  if  we  now  shamefully 
fail,  we  shall  become  infamous  to  the  whole  world.  Let  us, 
then,  rely  on  the  goodness  of  our  cause,  and  the  aid  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  in  whose  hands  victory  is,  to  animate  and 
encourage  us  to  great  and  noble  actions.  The  eyes  of  all 
our  countrymen  are  now  upon  us ;  and  we  shall  have  their 
blessings  and  praises,  if  happily  we  are  the  instruments  of 
saving  them  from  the  tyranny  meditated  against  them.  Let 
us,  therefore,  animate  and  encourage  each  other,  and  show 
the  whole  world  that  a  freeman  contending  for  liberty  on 
bis  own  ground  is  superior  to  any  slavish  mercenary  on 
earth. 


SENATORIAL.  289 

3.  Liberty,  property,  life  and  honor,  are  all  at  stake. 
Upon  your  courage  and  conduct  rest  the  hopes  of  our  bleed- 
ing and  insulted  country.  Our  wives,  children  and  parents, 
expect  safety  from  us  only ;  and  they  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  heaven  will  crown  with  success  so  just  a  cause. 
The  enemy  will  endeavor  to  intimidate  by  show  and  appear- 
ance ;  but  remember  they  have  been  repulsed  on  various 
occasions  by  a  few  brave  Americans.  Their  cause  is  bad— 
their  men  are  conscious  of  it ;  and,  if  opposed  with  firmness 
and  coolness  on  their  first  onset,  with  our  advantage  of 
works,  and  knowledge  of  the  ground,  the  victory  is  most 
assuredly  ours.  Every  good  soldier  will  be  silent  and  at- 
tentive, wait  for  orders,  and  reserve  his  fire  until  he  is  sure 
of  doing  execution.  Washington. 


CXXIX.— LIBERTY  AND  UNION. 

1.  I  PROFESS,  ^«,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept 
steadily  in  view,  ihe  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole 
country,  and  the  preservation  of  our  federal  union.  It  is 
to  that  union  we  owe  our  safety  at  home,  and  our  consid- 
eration and  dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that  union  that  we  are 
chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of  our 
country.  That  union  we  reached  only  by  the  discipline  of 
our  virtues,  in  the  severe  school  of  adversity.  It  had  its 
origin  in  the  necessities  of  disordered  finance,  prostrate 
commerce,  and  ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign  influences, 
these  great  interests  immediately  awoke,  as  from  the  dead, 
and  sprang  forth  with  newness  of  life.  Every  year  of  its 
duration  has  teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility  and  its 
blessings ;  and  although  our  territory  has  stretched  out 
wider  and  wider,  and  our  population  spread  farther  and  far- 
ther, they  have  not  outrun  its  protection  or  its  benefits.  It 
has  been  to  us  all  a  copious  fnnDt.iui  nf  n»finnnl,  social,  and 
personal  happiness. 

2.  I  have  not  allowed  niyscii,  .«ir,  to  iook  beyond  the 
anion,  to  see  what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  dark  recess  be- 
hind.    I  have  not  coolly  weighed  the  chances  of  preserving 

KiDD.— UT) 


290  KLOCUTION. 

liberty,  wnen  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together  shall  be 
broken  asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang 
over  thQ  precipice  of  disunion,  to  sec  whether,  witli  my 
short  sight,  I  can  fathom  the  depth  of  the  abyss  below  j 
nor  could  I  regard  him,  as  a  safe  counselor  in  the  affairs 
of  this  government,  whose  thoughts  should  be  mainly  bent 
on  considering,  not  how  the  union  should  be  preserved,  but 
how  tolerable  might  he  the  condition  of  the  people,  when  it 
shall  be  broken  up  and  destroyed. 

3.  While  the  union  lasts  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratify- 
ing prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  children. 
Beyond  that  I  seek  nut  to  penetrate  the  vail.  God  grant 
that  in  my  day,  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise.  God 
grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what  lies  be- 
hind. When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for  the 
last  time,  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on 
the  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious 
union;  on  states  dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent;  on  a 
land  rent  with  civil  tends,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fra- 
ternal blood !  Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance, 
rather,  behold  the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  republic,  now 
known  and  honored  throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high 
advanced,  its  arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original 
luster,  not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted,  nor  a  single  star  ob- 
scured, bearing  for  its  motto  no  such  miserable  interroga- 
tory as — What  is  all  this  worth?  Nor  those  other  words 
of  delusion  and  folly — Liberty  first  and  union  afterward  ; 
but  every  where  spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light, 
blazing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea 
and  over  the  land,  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens, 
that  other  sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart — 
]iiberty  and  union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable! 

WEBSTER. 


CXXX.— DEATH  OF  JOHN  Q.  ADAMS. 

1.  Mr.  Speaker  :  The  mingled  tones  of  sorrow,  like  the 
voice  of  many  waters,  have  come  unto  us  from  a  sister  state, 
— Massachusetts,  weeping  for  her  honored  son.     The  stRt<? 


SENATORIAL.  291 

f  have  the  honor  in  part  to  represtot  once  endured,  with 
yours,  a  common  suffering,  battled  for  a  common  cause,  and 
rejoiced  in  a  common  triumph.  Surely,  then,  it  is  meet,  that 
in  this  the  day  of  your  affliction,  we  should  mingle  our 
griefs. 

2.  When  a  great  man  falls,  the  nation  mourns ;  when  a 
patriarch  is  removed,  the  people  weep.  Ours,  my  associates, 
is  no  common  bereavement.  The  chain  which  linked  our 
hearts  with  the  gifted  spirits  of  former  times  has  been  sud- 
denly snapped.  The  lips  from  which  flowed  those  living 
and  glorious  truths  that  our  fathers  uttered  are  closed  in 
death. 

3.  Yes,  my  friends.  Death  has  been  among  us !  lie  has 
not  entered  the  humble  cottage  of  some  unknown,  ignoble 
peasant;  he  has  knocked  audibly  at  the  palace  of  a  nation  ! 
His  footstep  has  been  heard  in  the  halls  of  state !  He  has 
cloven  down  his  victim  in  the  midst  of  the  councils  of  a 
people.  He  has  borne  in  triumph  from  among  you  the 
gravest,  wisest,  most  reverend  head.  Ah  !  he  has  taken  him 
as  a  trophy  who  was  once  chief  over  many  statesmen,  adorned 
with  virtue,  and  learning,  and  truth;  he  has  borne  at  his 
chariot  wheels  a  renowned  one  of  the  earth. 

4.  How  often  have  we  crowded  into  that  aisle,  and  clus- 
tered around  that  now  vacant  desk,  to  listen  to  the  counsels 
of  wisdom  as  they  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  venerable  sage, 
we  can  all  remember,  for  it  was  but  of  yester<lay.  But  what 
a  change  !  How  wondrous  I  how  sudden  !  'Tis  like  a  vision 
of  the  night.  That  form  which  we  beheld  but  a  few  days 
since,  is  now  cold  in  death  ! 

5.  But  the  last  sabbath,  and  in  tliis  hall  he  worshiped 
with  others.  Now  his  spirit  mingles  with  the  noble  army 
of  martyrs  and  the  just  made  perfect,  in  the  eternal  adora- 
tion of  the  living  God.  With  him,  "this  is  the  end  of 
earth."  He  sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  He  ia 
gone — and  forever!  The  sun  that  ushers  in  t>e  morn  of 
that  next  holy  day,  while  it  gilds  the  lofty  dome  of  the 
eapitol,  shall  rest  with  soft  and  mellow  light  upon  the  con- 
secrated spot  beneath  whose  turf  forever  lies  the  Patriot 
I'atiier  and  the  Patriot  Sav.e.  i    i .  iioLMEf 


k 


'2^2  £LOCUTION. 

CXXXL—MORAL  EFFECTS  OF  INTEMPERANCE. 

1.  The  sufferings  of  animal  nature,  occasioned  by  intem- 
perance, are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  moral  agonies, 
which  convulse  the  soul.  It  is  an  immortal  being,  who 
sins,  and  suffers  ;  and,  as  his  earthly  house  dissolves,  he  is 
approaching  the  judgment-seat,  in  nnticipation  of  a  mis- 
erable eternity. 

2.  lie  feels  his  captivity,  and,  in  anguish  of  spirit,  clanks 
his  chain,  and  cries  for  help.  Conscience  thunders,  remorse 
goads,  and,  as  the  gulf  opens  before  him,  he  recoils,  and 
trembles,  and  weeps,  and  prays,  and  resolves,  and  promises, 
and  reforms,  and  "seeks  it  yet  again;"  again  resolves,  and 
weeps,  and  prays,  and  "seeks  it  yet  again  !" 

3.  Wretched  man  !  he  has  placed  himself  in  the  hands  of 
a  giant,  who  never  pities,  and  never  relaxes  his  iron  gripe. 
lie  may  struggle,  but  he  is  in  chains.  He  may  cry  for 
release,  but  it  comes  not;  and  lost!  lost!  may  be  inscribed 
on  the  door-posts  of  his  dwelling. 

4.  In  the  meantime,  these  paroxysms  of  his  dying  nature 
decline,  and  a  fearful  apathy,  the  harbinger  of  spiritual 
death,  comes  on.  His  resolution  fails,  and  his  mental 
energy,  and  his  vigorous  enterprise ;  and  nervous  irritation 
and  depression  ensue.  The  social  affections  lose  their  full- 
ness and  tenderness,  and  conscience  loses  its  power,  and  the 
heart  its  sensibility,  until  all  that  was  once  lovely,  and  of 
good  report,  retires  and  leaves  the  wretch,  abandoned  to  the 
appetites  of  a  ruined  animal. 

5.  In  this  deplorable  condition,  reputation  expires,  busi- 
ness falters,  and  becomes  perplexed,  and  temptations  to  drink 
multiply,  as  inclination  t)  do  so  increases,  and  the  power  of 
resistance  declines.  An!  now  the  vortex  roars,  and  the 
struggling  victim  buffets  the  fiery  wave,  with  feebler  stroke, 
and  warning  supplication,  until  despair  flashes  upon  his  soul, 
and,  with  an  outcry  that  pierces  the  heavens,  he  ceases  tc 
strive,  and  disappears.  L.  beecuer. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  293 


DRAMATIC   AND   RHETORICAL 


CXXXIL— BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO. 

1.  TuE  warrior  bowed  his  crested  head,  and  tamed  his  heart  ci 

fire, 
And  sued  the  haughty  king  to  free  his  long-imprisoned  sire ; 
•*  I  bring  thee  liere  my  fortrcss-kej^s,  I  bring  my  captive  train, 
I  pledge  thee  faith,  my  liege,  my  lord  I — 01  break  my   father's 

chain !" 

2.  "Rise,  rise!   even  now  thy  father  comes,  a  ransomed  man, 

this  day ! 
Mount  thy  good  horse ;  and  thou  and  I  will  meet  him  on  his  way." 
Then  lightly  rose  that  loyal  son,  and  bounded  on  his  steed, 
And  urged,  as  if  with  lance  in  rest,  the  charger's  foamy  speed. 

3.  And  lo!  from  far,  as  on  they  pressed,  there  came  a  glitter- 

ing band. 
With  one  that  'midst  them  stately  rode,  as  a  leader  in  the  land; 
•*  Now  haste,  Bernardo,  haste  I  for  there,  in  very  truth,  is  he, 
The  father  whom  thy  faithful  heart  hath  yearned  so  long  to  see." 

4.  Ilis  dark  eye  flashed,  his  proud  breast  heaved,  his  cheek's 

hue  came  and  went; 
lie  reached  that  gray-haired  chieftain's  side,  and  there,  dismount- 
ing, bent; 
A  lowly  knee  to  earth  he  bent,  his  father's  hand  he  took — 
What  waB  there  in  its  touch  that  all  his  fiery  spirit  shook? 

5.  That  hand  was  cold — a  frozen  thing — it  dropped  from  his  like 

Icaii ! 
He  looked  up  to  the  face  above — the  face  was  of  the  dead! 
A  pluniG  waved   o'er  the   noble  brow — the   brow  was  fixed  and 

white; 
He  met,  at  last,  his  father's  eyes — but  in  them  was  no  sight! 

6.  Up  from  the  ground   he  sprang  and  gazed ;  but  who  coalJ 

paint  that  gaze? 
They  hushed  their  very  hearts,  that  saw  its  horror  and  amaze — 
They  might  have  chained  him,  as  before  that  stony  form  he  stood; 
For  the  power  was    stri«-kon   from   his  arm,  niul   frntn   his   lip  the 


294  RLOCUTION. 

tlier!"  ut  length  he  murmured  low,  and  wept  like  child- 
hood then : 
Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  ha«t  seen  the  tears  of  warlike  men ! 
lie  thought  on  all  his  glorious  hopes,  and  all  his  young  renown — 
[le  flung  his  falchion  from  his  side,  and  in  the  dust  sat  down. 

8.  Then  covering  with  his  steel-gloved  hands  his  darkly  mourn* 

ful  brow, 
"  No  more,  there  is  no  more,"  he  said,  "  to  lift  the  sword  for,  now  ; 
My  king  is  false — my  hope  betrayed  !     My  father — 0!  the  worth 
The  glory,  and  the  loveliness,  are  passed  away  from  earth  I 

9.  "  I  thought  to  stand  where  banners  waved,  my  sire,  beside 

thee,  yet! 
I  would  that  there  our  kindred  blood  on  Spain's  free  soil  had  met ! 
Thou  wouldst  have  known   my  spirit,  then — ^for  thee  my  fields 

were  won ; 
And  thou  hast  perished  in  thy  chains,  as  though  thou  hadst  no  son  I'' 

10.  Then,  starting  from   the  ground  once  more,  he  seized  the 

monarch's  rein. 
Amid  the  pale  and  wildered  looks  of  all  the  courtier  train ; 
And,  with  a  fierce,  o'ermastering  grasp,  the  rearing  war-horse  led. 
And  sternly  set  them  face  to  face — the  king  before  the  dead: 

11.  '*  Came  I  not  forth,  upon  thy  pledge,  my  father's  hand  to 

kiss? 
— Be  still,  and  gaze  thou  on,  false  king  I  and  tell  me  what  is  this  ? 
The  voice,  the  glance,  the  heart  I  sought — give  .answer,  where  are 

they? 
—If  thou  wouldst  clear  thy  perjured  soul,  send  life  through  this 

cold  clay! 

12.  "  Into  these  glassy  eyes  put  light — be  still !  keep  down  thine 

ire! 
Bid  these  white  lips  a  blessing  speak — this  earth  is  not  my  sire — 
Give  me  back  him  for  whom  I  strove,  for  whom  my  blood  was 

shed ! 
Thou  canst  not? — and  a  king! — his   dust  be  mountains   on   thy 

head  I" 

13.  lie  loosed  the  steed — his  slack  hand  fell — upon  the  silent  face 
lie  cast  one  long,  deep,  troubled  look,  then  turned  from  that  sad 

place , 
Qis  hope  was  crushed,  his  after  fate  untold  in  martial  strain — 
[lis  banner  led  the  spears  no  more,  amid  the  hills  of  Spain. 

MRS.    HEMAXa. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  295 

CX  XX  £11.- PHILIP  VAN  ARTEVELDE  TO  THE  MEN  OF  GHENT. 

1    Sirs,  yo  have  heard  these  knights  discourse  to  you 
Of  your  ill  fortunes,  telling  on  th<?:r  fingers 
The  worthy  leaders  ye  have  lately  lost 
True,  they  were  worthy  men,  most  gallant  chiefs ; 
And  ill  would  it  become  us  to  make  light 
Of  the  great  loss  we  have  sufier'd  by  their  fall. 
They  died  liko  heroes ;  for  no  recreant  step 
Had  e'er  dishonored  them,  no  stain  of  fear, 
No  base  despiii-,  no  cowardly  recoil. 
They  had  the  hearts  of  freemen  to  the  last, 
And  the  free  blood  that  bounded  in  their  veins 
Was  shed  for  freedom  with  a  libei*al  joy. 

2.  But  had  they  guessed,  or  cou.M  they  but  have  dreamed 
The  great  examples  which  they  died  to  show 

Should  fall  80  flat,  should  shine  s.   fruitless  here. 

That  men  should  say,  "  For  liberty  these  died. 

Wherefore  let  us  be  slaves" — had  ^hey  thought  this, 

0,  then,  with  what  an  agony  of  shame. 

Their  blushing  faces  buried  in  tho  dust, 

flad  their  great  spirits  parted  hence  for  heaven  I 

3.  What!  shall  we  teach  our  chroniclers  h^ceforth 
To  write,  that  in  five  bodies  wcro  "ontained 

The  sole  brave  hearts  of  Ghent!  which  five  defunct. 

The  heartless  town,  by  brainless  '^-^unsel  led. 

Delivered  up  her  keys,  stript  off  her  robes, 

And  80  with  all  humility  besoua;ht 

Her  haughty  lord  that  he  would  scourge  her  lightly! 

It  shall  not  be — no,  verily !  for  now. 

Thus  looking  on  you  as  yo  stand  before  me, 

Mine  eye  can  single  out  full  many  a  man 

Who  lacks  but  opportunity  to  shiuo 

As  great  and  glorious  as  the  chiefs  that  fell. 

4.  But,  lo !  the  carl  is  "  mercifully  minded  1" 
And,  surely,  if  we.  rather  than  f-engo 

The  slaughter  of  our  bravest,  crv  them  shame, 
And  fall  upon  our  knees,  and  say  we  've  sinned, 
Then  will  my  lord  the  earl  have  mercy  on  us, 
And  pardon  us  our  strike  for  liberty ! 

5.  0,  sirs !  look  round  you,  ie»i  ye  be  deceived ; 
Forgiveness  may  be  spoken  with  the  tonKQO* 


296  ELOCUTION. 

ForgiveDess  may  be  written  with  the  pen, 

But  think  not  that  the  parchment  and  mouth  pardon 

Will  e'er  eject  old  hatreds  from  the  heart 

There's  that  betwixt  you  been  which  men  remember 

Till  they  forget  themselves,  till  all's  forgot— 

Till  the  deep  sleep  falls  on  them  in  that  bed 

From  which  no  morrow's  mischief  rouses  them. 

There's  that  betwixt  you  been  which  you  yourselves, 

Should  ye  forget,  would  then  not  be  yourselves, 

For  must  it  not  be  thought  some  base  men's  souls 

Have  ta'en  the  seats  of  yours  and  turned  you  out 

If,  in  the  coldness  of  a  craven  heart. 

Ye  should  forgive  this  bloody-minded  man 

For  all  his  black  and  murderous  monstrous  crimes? 

HENRY   TAYLOR 


CXXX I  v.— VARIETIES. 

1. — SPEECH    OF   8EMPR0NIUS. 

1.  Mr  voice  is  still  for  war. 

Gods !  can  a  Roman  senate  long  debate, 

Which^of  the  two  to  choose — slavery  or  death? 

No !  let  us  rise  at  once,  gird  on  our  swords, 

And,  at  the  head  of  our  remaining  troops, 

Attack  the  foe;  break  through  the  thick  array 

Of  his  thronged  legions,  and  charge  home  upon  him. 

Perhaps  some  arm,  more  lucky  than  the  rest. 

May  reach  his  heart,  and  free  the  world  from  bondage. 

2.  Rise,  fathers,  rise !  't  is  Rome  demands  your  help ; 
Rise,  and  revenge  her  slaughtered  citizens, 

Or  share  their  fate !     The  slain  of  half  her  senate 
Enrich  the  fields  of  Thessaly,  while  we 
Sit  here,  deliberating  in  cold  debates. 
If  we  should  sacrifice  our  lives  to  honor, 
Or  wep.r  them  out  in  servitude  and  chains. 
Rouse  up,  for  shame !     Our  brothers  of  Pharsalia 
Point  at  their  wovmds,  and  cry  aloud,  "To  battle!" 

ADDISON 
2.     -CATO'S    SOLILOQUY    ON    IMMORTALITY. 

1.  It  must  be  so — Plato,  thou  reasonest  well! 
£lse.  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  297 

This  lunging  after  immortality  7 

Or,  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 

Of  falling  into  nought?     AVhy  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction? 

'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us: 

'Tis  Heaven  itself  that  points  out  a  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 

2.  Eternity  I  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought! 
Through  what  variety  of  untried  being. 

Through  what  new  scenes,  and  changes,  must  we  pass? 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  nie; 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness,  rest  upon  it. 
Here  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  power  above  us- 
And  that  there  is,  all  nature  cries  aloud 
Through  all  her  works — lie  must  delight  in  virtue, 
And  that,  which  He  delights  in  must  be  happy. 
But  when?  or  where?    This  world  was  made  for  Caesar 

3.  I'm  weary  of  conjectures — this  must  end  them. 
Thus  I  am  doubly  armed.     My  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote,  are  both  before  me. 

This,  in  a  moment,  brings  me  to  an  end  ; 
But  this,  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  among  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crash  of  worlds. 

ADDISON 


CXXXV.— MARMION  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  D0UGLA8- 

1.  Thk  train  from  out  the  castle  drew; 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu — 

"Though  something  I  might  'plain,"  he  said, 
"Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest, 

While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  stayed — 
Part  wo  in  friendship  from  your  land, 
And,  noble  earl,  receive  my  hand. 


208  KLOCDTION. 

2.  But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 
Folded  his  aruis,  and  thus  he  spoke: 

"  My  manors,  halls  and  bowers,  shall  still 

Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 

My  castles  are  my  king's  alone, 

From  turret  to  foundation-stone — 

Tiie  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own; 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp  I" 

3.  Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fii% 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire. 

And — "  This  to  me !"  he  said ; 
*'  An  't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head! 
And  first  I  tell  thee,  haughty  peer, 
lie  who  does  England's  message  here. 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state. 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate! 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride. 
Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay^,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

I  tell  thee,  thou  'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied !" 

4.  On  the  earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age ; 

Fierce  he  broke  forth:    "And  darest  thou,  then. 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den — 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms ! — what,  warder,  ho  I 

Let  the  portcullis  fall" 

5.  Lord  Marmion  turned — well  was  his  need — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed; 

Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung. 


i^itAMATIO,   ETC.  29P 

Tho  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung: 

To  pass,  there  was  such  scanty  room, 

The  bars,  descending,  grazed  his  plume. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  tho  rise: 

Not  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  tho  smooth  lake's  level  brim : 

And  when  lord  Marmion  reached  his  band. 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 

A  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours. 

And  shakes  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers ! 

WALTER   SCOTT. 


CXXXVL— ODE  ON  THE  PASSIONS. 
I    When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
Tho  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell. 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell, 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting — 
Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting. 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined: 
Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fired. 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art. 
Each — for  madness  ruled  the  hour — 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

2.  First,  Fear,  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid — 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why. 
Even  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

t.  Next,  Anger  rushed:  his  eyes  on  fire. 
In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings — 
With  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre. 
And  swept  with  hurried  hands  the  stringa. 

4.  With  woful  measures,  wan  Despair — 
Low  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguiled; 
A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air: 
Twos  sad,  by  fits — by  starts,  'twas  wild 


300  ELOCDTION. 

5.  But  thou,  0  Hope  I  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail. 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong ; 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 

She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song: 
And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Ilope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  haii 

6.  And  longer  bad  she  sung — but,  with  a  frown, 

Revenge  impatient  rose; 
He  threw  his  bloodstained  sword  in  thunder  down. 
And  with  a  withering  look. 
The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took. 
And  blew  a  blast,  so  loud  and  dread, 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe: 
And  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 
The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat; 
And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between 
Dejected  Pity  at  his  side, 
Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied. 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  unaltered  mien ; 
While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting  from  his  head 

7.  Thy  numbers.  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fixed ; 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state  1 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed : 
And,  now,  it  courted  Love;  now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 

8.  With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 
Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired ; 

And  from  her  wild  sequestered  seat. 

In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet. 
Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul ; 

And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around; 

Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound. 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole. 

Or  o'er  some  haunted  stream,  with  fond  delay. 
Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing. 
Love  of  peace  and  lonely  musing, 

In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

9.  But,  oh !  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone, 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  301 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 
Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  mug, 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known! 

The  oak-crowned  sisters,  and  their  chaste-ejed  queen. 

Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 
•  Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green  . 

Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear. 
And  Spor*  leaped  up,  and  seized  his  beecben  spear 

]f''    Last,  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial: 
He,  with  viny  crown  advancing. 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed: 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol. 

Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain, 
They  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids, 
Amid  the  festal-sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing ; 
While  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings, 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round: 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound, 
And  he  amid  his  frolic  play. 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wing.  collin& 


CXXXVII.— ANTONY'S  ORATION  OVER  CiESAR. 

1.  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen!  Lend  me  your  cars, 
I  come  to  bury  Cajsar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil,  that  men  do,  lives  after  thorn — 
The  good  is  oft  inter-red  with  their  bones* 
So,  let  it  be  with  Caesar!     Noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Cajsar  was  ambitious: 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault; 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 

2.  Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men,) 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Cnjsar's  funeral — 
He  was  my  friend,  fiuthful,  and  just  to  me: 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 


302  ELOCUTION. 

3.  lie  hath  brought  many  captives  hjiue  to  Kom«, 
Whoso  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill: 

7>id  this,  in  Caesar,  seem  ambitious? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept: 

A.mbition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff; 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

4.  You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 
I  tlirice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse;  Mas  this  ambition? 
Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

5.  You  all  did  love  him  once ;  not  without  cause . 
What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him? 

0  judgment!  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts. 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason!    Bear  with  me: 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there,  with  Caesar; 
And  I  must  pause,  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world!  now,  lies  he  there, 

And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverenca 

6.  0  masters !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong; 
AVho,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar; 

I  foimd  it  in  his  closet;  'tis  his  will. 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 

(AVhich  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,) 

And  they  would  go,  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood — 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him,  for  memory, 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills ; 

Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 

Unto  their  issue. 

7.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle:  1  remember 


DKAMATIC,    ETC.  303 

The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 
'Twos  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent; 
That  day  ho  overcome  the  Nervii — 
Look!  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through, 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made: 
Through  this,  the  well  beloved  Brutus  stabbed. 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  curs-ed  steel  awny, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it ! 

8.  This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ! 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him:  then    burst  his  mighty  heart; 

And,  in  his  mantle,  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 

(Which  all  the  while  ran  blood)  great  Caesar  fell. 

0  what  a  fall  was  there  my  countrymen  ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
While  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 

9.  0,  now  you  weep;  and  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 

Kind  souls!  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded?     Look  you  here! 
Ilere  is  himself — marred  as  you  see,  by  traitors ! 

10.  Good  friends!  sweet  friends!  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 

They,  that  have  done  this  deed,  are  honorable; 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it;  they  are  wise,  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reason  answer  you. 

11.  I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts; 

1  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 

But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man, 

That  love  my  friend ;  and  that  they  know  full  well, 

That  gave  me  public  leave,  to  speak  of  hioL 

For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 

Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  power  of  speech. 

To  stir  men's  blood — I  only  speak  right  on, 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know — 

Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouthy 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But  were  I  Brutus, 

And  BrutuH  Antony,  tlicre  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  epirita,  and  put  a  ton;:uu 


804  ELOCUTION. 

In  every  wound  of  CaDsar,  that  should  move 

Tlie  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny.  siiakspeari 


CXXX  VIII.— VARIETIES. 

1. — THE   PRIDE   OF  BIRTH. 

I  WAS  not  born 
A  shepherd's  son  to  dwell  with  pipe  and  crook, 
And  peasant  men  amid  the  lowly  vales  ; 
Instead  of  rinj];ing  clarions,  and  bright  spears, 
And  crested  knights! — I  am  of  princely  race; 
And  if  my  father  would  have  heard  my  suit, 
I  tell  thee,  infidel,  that  long  ere  now 
I  should  have  seen  how  lances  meet  and  swords 
Do  the  field's  work.     Moslem !— on  the  hills. 
Around  my  father's  castle,  I  have  heard 
The  mountain-peasants,  as  they  dressed  the  vines. 
Or  drove  the  goats,  by  rock  and  torrent,  home, 
Singing  their  ancient  songs ;  and  these  were  all 
Of  the  Cid  Campeador;  and  how  his  sword, 
Tizuna,  cleared  its  way  through  turban ed  hosts. 
And  captured  Afric's  kings,  and  how  he  won 
Valencia  from  the  Moors — I  will  not  shame 
The  blood  we  draw  from  him  mrs.  demand 

2. — THREATENING. 

If  they  but  speak  the  truth  of  her. 
These  hands  shall  tear  her;  if  they  wrong  her  honor. 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it 
Time  hath  not  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention. 
Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means. 
Nor  my  bad  life  'reft  me  so  much  of  friends 
But  they  shall  find  awaked,  in  such  a  kind. 
Both  strength  of  limb  and  policy  of  mind, 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends. 
To  quit  me  of  them  thoroughly. 

3. — laila's  anger  at  thalaba's  suspicions. 

Begone  then,  insolent! 
Why  dost  thou  stand  and  gaze  upon  me  thus? 
Aye !  watch  the  features  well  that  threaten  thee 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  306 

AVith  fraud  and  danger!     In  the  vrilderness 

They  shall  avenge  me — in  the  hour  of  want 

Rise  on  thy  view,  and  make  thee  feel 

How  innocent  I  am: 

And  this  rememhered  cowardice  and  insult 

^Vith  a  more  painful  shame  will  burn  thy  check 

Than  now  heats  mine  with  anger.  souxnir 


CXXXIX.— HAMLET'S  SOLILOQUY. 

1.  To  be  or  not  to  be— that  is  the  question! 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 
Or  to  tnke  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them — To  die — to  sleep — 
No  more ! — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished. 

2.  To  die — to  sleep — 

To  sleep? — perchance  to  dream — aye,  there's  the  rub! 

For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come. 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 

Must  give  us  pause  I     There  's  the  respect, 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life: 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes — 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin? 

3.  Who  would  fardels  bear, 

To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death — 

That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourne 

No  traveler  returns — puzzles  the  will. 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 

Than  fly  to  others  that  ve  know  not  of  I 

4.  Thus,  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all : 
And  thus,  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Kinn.    ^^r. 


300*  ELOCUTION. 

X8  sicklied   )'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thoufjht ; 

And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 

With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 

And  lose  the  name  of  action.  SHAKdrEARi. 


CXL,— TUE  MANIAC. 


}    Stav,  jailer,  stay,  and  hear  my  woe  1 

She  is  not  mad  that  kneels  to  thee ; 
For  what  I  'm  now,  too  well  I  know, 

And  what  I  was,  and  what  should  be. 
I  '11  rave  no  more  in  proud  despair ; 

My  language  shall  be  mild,  though  sad: 
But  yet  I  firmly,  truly  swear, 

I  am  not  mad,  I  am  not  mad. 

2,  My  tyrant  husband  forged  the  tale 

Which  chains  roe  in  this  dismal  cell; 
My  fate  unknown  my  friends  bewail — 

Oh !  jailer,  haste  that  fate  to  tell : 
Oh !  haste  my  father's  heart  to  cheer ; 

Ilis  heart  at  once  't  will  grieve  and  glad 
To  know,  though  kept  a  captive  here, 

I  am  not  mad,  I  am  not  mad. 

3.  He  smiles  in  scorn,  and  turns  the  key ; 

He  quits  the  grate;  I  knelt  in  vain; 
His  glimmering  lamp,  still,  still  I  see — 

'T  is  gone !  and  all  is  gloom  again. 
Cold,  bitter  cold ! — No  warmth !  no  light  1 — 

Life,  all  thy  comforts  once  I  had ; 
Yet  here  I  'm  chained,  this  freezing  night, 

Although  not  mad ;  no,  no,  not  mad. 

4    'T  is  sure  some  dream,  some  vision  vain ; 

What !  I — the  child  of  rank  and  wealth- 
Am  I  the  wretch  who  clanks  this  chain, 

Bereft  of  freedom,  friends,  and  health? 
Ah  I  while  I  dwell  on  blessings  fled. 

Which  never  more  my  heart  must  glad. 
How  aches  my  heart,  how  burns  my  head. 

But 't  is  not  mad  ;  no,  't  is  not  mad. 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  307 

5    Hast  thou,  my  child,  forgot,  ero  this, 

A  mother's  face,  a  mother's  tongue? 
She  '11  ne'er  forget  your  parting  kiss, 

Nor  round  her  neck  how  fast  you  clung ; 
Nor  how  witli  her  you  sued  to  stny; 

Nor  how  that  suit  your  sire  forbade; 
Nor  how — I  '11  drive  such  thoughts  away ; 

They  '11  make  me  mad,  they  '11  make  me  mad. 

6.  II is  rosy  lips,  how  sweet  they  smiled ! 

His  mild  blue  eyes,  how  bright  they  shone  I 
None  ever  bore  a  lovelier  child  : 

And  art  thou  now  forever  gone? 
And  must  I  never  see  thee  more, 

My  pretty,  pretty,  pretty  lad  ? 
I  will  be  free!  unbar  the  door! 

I  am  not  mad ;  I  am  not  mad. 

7.  Oh!  hark!  what  mean  those  yells  and  cries* 

Ilij  chain  some  furious  madman  breaks  : 
He  comes — I  see  his  glaring  eyes ; 

Now,  now,  my  dungeon-grate  he  shakes. 
Help!  help! — he's  gone  I — oh  I  fearful  woe, 

Such  screams  to  hear,  such  sights  to  see' 
My  brain,  my  brain — I  know,  I  know, 

I  am  not  mad,  but  soon  shall  be. 

8.  Yes,  soon;  for,  lo  you! — while  I  speak- 

Mark  how  yon  demon's  eyeballs  glare! 
He  sees  n>f ;  now,  with  dreadful  shriek, 

He  whiil-  a  serpent  high  in  air. 
Horror! — the  reptile  strikes  his  tooth 

Deep  in  my  heart,  so  crushed  and  sad; 
Ay,  laugh,  ye  fiends ;  I  feel  the  truth  ; 

y,.nr  tn^i-  ;o  ,ione — I'm  mad!  I'm  mad! 

LEWIS. 


CXU.— ROLLA'8  ADDRESS  TO  THE  PERUVIANS. 

1.  My  bravo  associates,  partners  of  my  toil,  my  feelings, 
and  my  fame!  Can  Holla's  words  add  vigor  to  the  virtuous 
energies  which  inspire  your  hearts?  No;  you  have  judged 
as  I  have,  the  foulness  of  the  crafty  plea  by  which  these 
bold  invaders  would  delude  you.     Your  generous  spirit  has 


308  ELOCUTION. 

compared,  as  mine  has,  the  motives,  which,  in  a  war  like  this, 
can  animate  their  minds  and  ours. 

2.  They,  by  a  strange  frenzy  driven,  fight  for  power,  for 
plunder,  and  extended  rule ;  we,  for  our  country,  our  altars, 
and  our  homes.  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they 
fear,  and  obey  a  power  which  they  hate;  we  serve  a  mon- 
■rch  whom  we  love,  a  God,  whom  we  adore.  Whene'er 
they  move  in  anger,  desolation  marks  their  progress ! 
Whene'er  they  pause  in  amity,  affliction  mourns  their 
friendship. 

3.  They  boast  they  come  but  to  improve  our  state,  en- 
large our  thoughts,  and  free  us  from  the  yoke  of  error! 
Yes,  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our  minds,  who 
are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and  pride. 
They  offer  us  their  protection.  Yes,  such  protection  as 
vultures  give  to  lambs — covering  and  devouring  them. 

4.  They  call  on  us  to  barter  allof  good,  we  have  inher- 
ited and  proved,  for  the  desperate  chance  of  something 
better,  which  they  promise.  Be  our  plain  answer  this: 
The  throne  we  honor  is  the  people's  choice;  the  laws  we 
reverence  are  our  brave  fathers'  legacy;  the  faith  we  follow 
teaches  us  to  live  in  bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind,  and 
die  with  hope  of  bliss  beyond  the  grave.  Tell  your  invaders 
this,  and  tell  them  too,  we  seek  no  change;  and,  least  of  all. 
such  change  as  they  would  bring  us.  knowles. 


CXLII.— SOLILOQUY  OF  THE  KING  OF  DENMARK. 

1.  Oh,  my  offense  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven! 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon't — 
A  brother's  murder. — Pray,  alas !  I  can  not. 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  't  will ; 
My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent, 
And  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 
I  stand  and  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 
And  both  neglect     What  if  this  curs-ed  hand 
Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood, 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 
To  wash  it  white  as  snow? 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  309 

2.  Whereto  serves  mercy, 
But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offense? 
And  what's  in  prayer  but  this  twofold  force, 
To  be  forestalled  ere  we  come  to  fall, 
Or  pardoned  being  down?  then  I'll  look  up. 
My  fault  is  past.     But  oh,  what  form  of  prayer 
Can  serve  my  turn?     Forgive  me  my  foul  murder! 
That  can  not  be,  since  I  am  still  possest 
Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder. 
My  crown,  my  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 

3    May  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain  the  offense? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world. 
Offense's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice; 
And  oft 't  is  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law ;  but  't  is  not  so  above ; 
There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 
In  its  true  nature,  and  we  ourselves  compelled 
E'en  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence. 

4.  What  then?   what  rests? 
Try  what  repentance  can.     What  can  it  not? 
Yet  what  can  it  when  one  can  not  repent? 
0  wretched  state  1     0  bosom,  black  as  death  I 
0  limed  soul,  that  struggling  to  be  free. 
Art  more  engaged  1  help,  angels,  make  essay  1 
Bow,  stubborn  knees;  and  heart  with  strings  of  steel 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe ! 
All  may  be  well.  sdakspxabb 


CXLIIL— VARIETIEa 
1. — MALICE. 


now  like  a  fawning  publican  ho  looks  I 

I  hate  him,  for  ho  is  a  Christian, 

But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity. 

He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 

The  rates  of  usance,  hero  with  us  in  Venice. 

If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

Iff  hfitos  our  sacred  nation,  and  he  rails — 


810  ELOCUTION. 

Even  there  "where  merchants  most  do  congregate- 
On  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift ; 
Which  he  calls  interest     Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him.  shaksfeari 

2. — EXPECTATION. 

I  AM  giddy:  expectation  whirls  mo  round. 

The  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet 

That  it  enchants  my  sense :  what  will  it  be. 

When  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 

Love's  thrice  reputed  nectar?     Death,  I  fear  me; 

Swooning  destruction ;  or  some  joy  too  fine, 

Too  subtle  potent,  tuned  too  sharp  in  sweetness, 

For  the  capacity  of  my  rudar  powers ; 

I  fear  it  much ;  and  I  do  fear,  besides, 

That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys ; 

As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  charge  on  heaps 

The  enemy  flying. 

My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse ; 

And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 

Like  vassalage  at  unawares  encountering 

The  eye  of  majesty.  sqakspeari 

3. — PASSION. 

Passion,  when  deep,  is  still — the  glaring  eye. 
That  reads  its  enemy  with  glance  of  fire ; 
The  lip,  that  curls  and  writhes  in  bitterness  ; 
The  brow  contracted,  till  its  wrinkles  hide 
The  keen  fixed  orbs  that  burn  and  flash  below ; 
The  hand  firm  clenched  and  quivering,  and  the  foot 
Planted  in  attitude  to  spring  and  dart 
Its  vengeance,  are  the  language  it  employs. 
While  passions  glow,  the  heart,  like  heated  steel, 
Takes  each  impression,  and  is  worked  at  pleasure 

4. — PROPOUND    DESPAIR. 

No  change,  no  pause,  no  hope!  yet  I  endure! 
I  ask  the  earth,  have  not  the  mountains  felt? 
I  ask  yon  heaven,  the  all-beliolding  sun. 
Has  it  not  seen?     The  sea,  in  storm  or  calm. 
Heaven's  ever  changing  shadow,  spread  below,— 
Have  \\s  deaf  waves  not  heard  my  agony? 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  311 

Ah  mel  alas,  pain,  pain  ever,  forever  I 
The  crawling  glaciers  pierce  me  with  the  spears 
Of  thoir  moon-freezing  crystals:  the  bright  chains 
Eiit  with  their  burning  cold  into  my  bones: 
Heaven's  wing-ed  hound,  polluting  from  thy  lips, 
His  beak  in  poison  not  his  own,  tears  up 
My  heart;  and  shapeless  sights  come  wandering  by, 
The  ghastly  people  of  the  realm  of  dream, 
Mocking  me:  and  the  earthquake's  fiends  are  charged 
To  wrench  the  rivets  from  my  quivering  wounds, 
When  the  rocks  split  and  close  again  behind: 
While  from  their  loud  abysses  howling  throng 
The  genii  of  the  storm,  urging  the  rage 
Of  whirlwind,  and  afflict  me  with  keen  hail. 

SnSLLIT 


CXLIV.— SOLILOQUY  OF  A  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE. 

1.  Time  was.  when  much  he  loved  me; 
When  we  walked  out,  at  close  of  day,  t'  inhale 
The  vern.al  breeze.     Ah,  well  do  I  remember, 
IIow,  then,  with  careful  hand,  he  drew  my  mantle 
Round  me,  fearful  lest  the  evening  dews 

Should  mar  my  fragile  health.     Yes,  then  his  eye 
Looked  kindly  on  me  when  my  heart  was  sad. 
IIow. tenderly  he  wiped  my  tears  away. 
While  from  his  lips  the  words  of  gentle  soothing 
In  softest  accents  fell  1 

2.  How  blest  my  evenings  too,  when  wintcry  blast? 
Were  howling  round  our  peaceful  dwelling! 

Oh,  it  was  sweet,  the  daily  task  performed, 
By  the  sweet  hearth  and  cheerful  fire,  to  sit 
With  him  I  loved;  to  view  with  glistening  eye, 
And  all  a  parent's  fondness,  the  budding  graces 
Of  our  little  ones. 

3.  Then  ye  had  a  father, 

My  lovely  babes,  my  more  than  helpless  orphans. 
Your  mother  more  than  widowed  grief  has  known : 
Yes,  sharper  pangs  than  those  who  mourn  the  dead, 
Seized  on  my  breaking  heart,  when  first  I  knew 
My  lover,  husband— oh,  my  earthly  all — 
Was  dead  to  virtue;  when  I  saw  the  man 


812  ELOCUTION. 

My  soul  too  fondly  loved,  transformed  to  brute. 
Oh,  it  was  then  I  tasted  gall  and  wormwood  I 

4.  Then  the  world  looked  dreary;  fearful  clouds 
Quick  gathered  round  me;  dark  forebodings  came. 
The  grave,  before,  was  terror;  now  it  smiled: 

I  longed  to  lay  me  down  in  peaceful  rest, 

There  to  forget  my  sorrows.     But  I  lived, 

And,  oh,  my  God !  what  years  of  woe  have  followed 

I  feel  my  heart  is  broken.     lie  who  vowed 

To  cherish  me — before  God's  altar  vowed— 

Has  done  the  deed.     And  shall  I  then  upbraid  him— 

The  husband  of  my  youthful  days — the  man 

To  whom  I  gave  my  virgin  heart  away? 

Patient  I'll  bear  it  all 

5.  Peace,  peace,  my  heart! 

'Tis  almost  o'er.     A  few  more  stormy  blasts. 
And  then  this  shattered,  broken  frame  will  fall, 
And  sweetly  slumber  where 
The  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
And  the  weary  are  at  rest 


CXLV.— CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE. 

1.  Conscript  Fathers, 

I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words  ; 
Let  that'  plebeian  talk;  'tis  not  my  trade; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right — let  him  show  proofs — 
For  Roman  right ;  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.     Ay,  cluster  there  I 
Cling  to  your  master,  judges,  Romans,  slaves! 
His  charge  is  false ; — I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer.     Let  my  actions  speak! 

2.  But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned, 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong ! 
-Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword, 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
"Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me — turning  out 

The  Roman  from  his  birthright;  and,  for  what? 
To  fling  your  offices  to  every  slave! 
Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb, 
Arul.  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top. 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  318 

Of  this  huge,  moldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below! 
Come,  consecrated  Lictors,  from  your  thrones ; 
Fling  down  your  scepters ;  take  the  rod  and  axe, 
And  make  the  murder  as  you  make  the  law! 

3.  Banished  from  Rome!    What's  banished,  but  set  fire« 
From  daily  contact  with  the  things  I  loathe? 

"Tried  and  convicted  traitor!"     Who  says  this? 
Who'll  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head? 

4.  Banished!  I  thank  you  for't.     It  breaks  my  chain! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour; 

But  now  my  sword's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  lords! 

I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 

Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 

I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up. 

To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 

But  hero  I  stand  and  scoff  you !  here,  I  fling 

Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face! 

Your  Consul  's  merciful — for  this  all  thanks: 

He  dares  not  i"  uch  a  hair  of  Catiline ! 

5.  "Traitor!"     I  go;  but  I  return.     This— trial? 
Here  I  devote  your  senate!     I've  had  wrongs 

To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 

Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 

This  day's  the  birth  of  sorrow!     This  hour's- work 

Will  breed  proscriptions!     Look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords  I 

For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods. 

Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  I — all  shames  and  crimes  I 

Wan  treachery,  with  his  thirsty  daggei  'Irawn; 

Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup; 

Naked  rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 

Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ; 

Till  anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 

And  massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave! 

6.  I  go ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone. 

I  go;  l)ut,  when  I  come,  't  will  be  the  burst 

Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake — rolling  back 

In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Fare  you  well! 

You  build  my  funeral-pile ;  but  your  best  blood 

Shall  quench  its  flame  1    Back,  slaves !     I  will  return  I 

CIOLT 

KiDD.— 27 


814  ELOCUTION. 

CXLVL— MARULLUS  TO  THE  ROMAN  POPULACE. 

1.  V/uEREFoRE  rcjoice,  that  Caesar  comes  in  triumph  T 
What  conquest  brings  he  home? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  irrace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot-wheels? 

i'ou  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  thinjrsi 

2.  0   you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome  I 
Knew  ye  not  Pompey?    Many  a  time  and  oft 
Have  you  climbed  up  to  walls  and  battlements. 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops. 
Your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 
The  live-long  day,  with  patient  expectation, 

To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome ; 
And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
Ilave  you  not  made  a  universal  shout, 
That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  her  banks 
To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds, 
Made  in  her  concave  shores? 

3.  An<l  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday? 

And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way. 

That  comes  in  triumph  over  Porapey's  blood? 

Begone!     Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees, 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 

That  needs  must  ligh^  on  this  ingratitude !       shakspeaRS. 


CXLVn.— THE  MISER  PUNISHED. 

1.  So,  so!  all  safe!    Come  forth,  my  pretty  uj  »rkler8— 
Come  forth,  and  feast  my  eyes!     Be  not  afrail. 

No  keen-eyed  agent  of  the  government 

Can  see  you  here.     They  wanted  me,  forsooth, 

To  lend  you,  at  the  lawful  rate  of  usance, 

For  the  state's  needs.     Ila,  ha!  my  shining  p^-ts. 

My  yellow  darlings,  my  sweet  golden  circlets! 

Too  well  I  loved  you  to  do  that — and  so 

I  pleaded  poverty,  and  none  could  prove 

My  story  was  not  true. 

2.  Ha!  could  they  see 

These  bags  of  ducats,  and  than  prAciouJs  pil« 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  215 

or  iugots,  and  those  bars  of  solid  gold, 

Their  eyes,  methinks,  would  water.     What  a  comfort 

Ib  it  to  see  my  moneys  in  a  heap 

All  safely  lodged  under  my  very  roof! 

Here's  a  fat  bag — let  me  untie  the  mouth  of  it. 

What  elocjucnce!  what  beauty!  what  expression! 

Could  Cicero  so  plead?  could  Helen  look 

One  half  so  charming? 

3    Ah!  what  sound  was  that? — 
The  trap-door  fallen?  and  the  spring-lock  caught T — 
Well,  have  I  not  the  key  ? — Of  course  I  have ! 
'Tis  in  this  pocket— No.     In  this?— Xo.     Then 
I  left  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder — 
Ila!  't  is  not  there.     Where  then? — Ah!  mercy,  lleaven^ 
'Tia  in  the  lock  outside ! 

4.  What's  to  be  done? 

Ilelp,  help !    Will  no  one  hear  ?    0  !  would  that  I 

Il^d  not  discharged  old  Simon ! — but  he  begged 

Each  week  for  wages — would  not  give  mo  credit. 

I'll  try  my  strength  upon  the  door — Despair ! 

I  might  as  soon  uproot  the  eternal  rocks 

As  force  it  open.     Am  I  here  a  prisoner, 

And  no  one  in  the  house?  no  one  at  hand, 

Or  likely  soon  to  be,  to  hear  my  cries? 

Am  I  entombed  alive  ? — Horrible  fate ! 

I  sink — I  faint  beneath  the  bare  conception ! 

5.  Darkness?    Where  am  I? — I  remember  now — 
This  is  a  bag  of  ducats — 'tis  no  dream — 

No  dream!    The  trap-door  fell,  and  here  am  I 

Immured  with  my  dear  gold — my  candle  out — 

All  gloom — all  silence — all  despair!     What,  ho! 

Friends! — friends? — I  have  no  friends.     What  right  have  i 

To  use  the  name?    These  money-bags  have  been 

The  only  friends  I  'vo  cared  for — and  for  these 

I  'to  toiled,  and  pinched,  and  screwed,  shutting  my  hemit 

To  charity,  humanity  and  love! 

6.  Detested  traitors!  since  I  gave  you  all — 
'A.y,  gave  my  very  soul — can  ye  do  naught 
For  me  in  this  extremity? — Ho!  without  there! 
A  thousand  ducata  for  a  loaf  of  bread  1 

Ten  thousand  ducn'     ''  -  -t  doss  of  water  I 


^16  ELOCUTION. 

A  pile  of  ingots  for  a  helping  hand  1— 

Was  that  a  laugh?— Ay,  'twas  a  fiend  that  laughed 

To  see  a  miser  in  the  grip  of  death  1 

7.  Offended  heaven!  have  mercy  1 — I  will  give 
In  alms  all  this  vile  rubbish,  aid  me  thou 

In  this  most  di-eadful  strait  I     I  '11  build  a  church — 

A  hospital  I — Vain  !  vain !     Too  late,  too  late ! 

Heaven  knows  the  miser's  heart  too  well  to  trust  him  I 

Heaven  will  not  hear! — Why  should  it?     What  have  I 

Done  to  enlist  heaven's  favor — to  help  on 

Heaven's  cause  on  earth,  in  human  hearts  and  homes ?--> 

Nothing!     God's  kingdom  will  not  come  the  sooner 

For  any  work  or  any  prayer  of  mine. 

8.  But  must  I  die  here — in  my  own  trap  caught? 
Die — die? — and  then!     0!  mercy!     Grant  me  time — 
Thou  who  canst  save — grant  mo  a  little  time, 

And  I'll  redeem  the  past — undo  the  evil 

Tliat  I  have  done — make  thousands  happy  with 

This  hoarded  treaf.ure — do  thy  will  on  earth 

As  it  is  done  in  heaven — grant  me  but  time!- 

Nor  man  nor  God  will  heed  my  shrieks !     All's  lost ! 

OSBORNE. 

CXLVra.— BRUTUS'  HARANGUE   ON  THE   DEATH  OF  CiESAR. 

1.  Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers — hear  me  for  my 
cause  ;  and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear.  Believe  me  for 
my  honor :  snd  have  respect  to  my  honor,  that  you  may 
believe.  Censure  me  in  your  wisdom;  and  awake  your 
senses,  that  you  may  the  better  judge.  If  there  is  any  in 
this  assembly,  any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's,  to  him  I  say,  that 
Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  no  less  than  his.  If,  then,  that 
friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against  Cffisar,  this  is  my 
answer  :  Not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but  thai  I  loved  Rome 
more. 

2.  Had  you  rather  Cnesar  were  living,  and  die  all  slaves, 
than  that  Cffisar  were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen?  As  Caesar 
loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at 
it;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him  :  but,  as  he  was  ambitious, 
I  slew  him.  There  are  tears  for  his  love,  joy  for  his  fortune, 
honor  for  his  valor,  and  death  for  his  ambition. 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  3l7 

3.  Who  is  here  so  base,  that  he  would  be  a  bondman? 
If  any,  speak ;  for  him  1  have  offended.  Who  is  here  so 
rude,  that  he  would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for 
him  I  have  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  he  will  not 
love  his  country?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  T  have  offended. 
I  pause  for  a  reply 

4.  None  I  Then  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no 
more  to  Cajsar,  than  you  shall  do  to  Brutus.  The  ques- 
tion of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  capitol ;  his  glory  not 
extenuated,  wherein  he  was  worthy ;  nor  his  offenses  en- 
forced, for  which  he  suffered  death. 

5.  Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony  ;  who, 
though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  bene- 
fit of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the  commonwealth ;  as  which  of 
you  shall  not? — With  this,  I  depart — and,  as  I  slew  my  best 
lover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  my- 
self, when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death, 

SUAKSPEARE. 


ex  LI  X.— THE  BARON'S  LAST  BANQUET. 

1.  O'er  a  low  couch  the  setting  sun 

Had  thrown  its  latest  ray, 
Where,  in  his  la.st  strong  agony, 

A  dying  warrior  lay— 
The  stern  old  Baron  Rudiger, 

Whose  frame  had  ne'er  been  bent 
By  wa.sting  pain,  till  time  and  toil 

Its  iron  strength  had  spent 

2.  '*  They  come  around  mo  hero,  and  say 

My  days  of  life  are  o'er — 
That  I  shall  mount  my  noble  steed 

And  lead  my  band  no  more ; 
They  come,  and  to  my  beard  they  dare 

To  tell  me  now,  that  I, 
Their  own  liege  lord  and  master  bom — 

That  I— ha!  ha  I— must  diel 

8.  "  And  what  is  death  ?    I  'vo  dared  him  ofi 
Before  the  Paynira's  spear — 
Think  ye  he  's  entered  at  my  gate, 
Has  come  to  seek  me  here? 


818  ELOCUTION. 

I  *ve  met  him,  faced  him,  scorned  him, 
When  the  fif^ht  was  raging  hot — 

I  '11  try  his  might — I  '11  brave  his  power- 
Defy,  and  fear  him  not  I 

4.  "Hoi  souni  the  tocsin  from  the  tower — 

And  fire  the  culverin ! — 
Bid  each  retainer  arm  with  speod — 

Call  every  vassal  in! 
Up  with  my  banner  on  the  wall! 

The  banquet  board  prepare ! — 
Throw  wide  the  portal  of  my  hall, 

And  bring  my  armor  there  1" 

5.  A  hundred  hands  were  busy  then  ; 

The  banquet  forth  was  spread, 
And  rang  the  heavy  oaken  floor 

With  many  a  martial  tread ; 
While  from  the  rich,  dark  tracery. 

Along  the  vaulted  wall. 
Lights  gleamed  on  harness,  plume,  and  spear. 

O'er  the  proud  old  Gothic  halL 

6.  Fast  hurrying  through  the  outer  gate, 

The  mailed  retainers  poured 
On  through  the  portal's  frowning  arch, 

And  thronged  around  the  board; 
While  at  its  head,  within  his  dark, 

Carved  oaken  chair  of  state, 
Armed  cap-a-pie,  stern  Rudiger, 

With  girded  falchion,  sate. 

7.  "  Fill  every  beaker  up,  my  men  I 

Pour  forth  the  cheering  wine  I 
There  's  life  and  strength  in  every  dro^^— 

Thanksgiving  to  the  vine ! 
Are  ye  all  there,  my  vassals  true? 

Mine  eyes  are  waxing  dim — 
Fill  round,  my  tried  and  fearless  ones. 

Each  gi^blet  to  the  brim  ! 

8    "Ye 're  there,  but  yet  I  sec  you  not  I 
Draw  forth  each  trusty  sword — 
And  let  me  hear  your  faithful  steel     . 
Chish  once  around  my  board! 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  319 

I  hear  it  faintly — louder  yet! 

What  clogs  my  heavy  breath? 
Up,  all ! — and  shout  for  Rudiger, 

'Defiance  unto  death!'  " 

9.  Bowl  rang  to  bowl,  steel  clanged  to  steel, 

And  rose  a  deafening  cry, 
That  made  the  torches  flare  around. 

And  shook  the  flags  on  high: 
"  IIo !  cravens !  do  ye  fear  him  J 

Slaves  I  traitors  !  have  ye  flown  ? 
Hoi  cowards,  have  ye  left  me 

To  meet  him  here  alone? 

10.  "  But  I  defy  him ! — let  him  come !" 

Down  rang  the  massy  cup. 
While  from  its  sheath  the  ready  blade 

Came  flashing  half-way  up ; 
And  with  the  black  and  heavy  plumes 

Scarce  trembling  on  his  head. 
There,  in  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair, 

Old  Rudiger  sat — dead!  a.  a.  greenk. 


CL.— bw.^w  wc    iiii-:  GREEKS. 

1    Again  to  the  battle,  Achaians  I 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance; 
Oui  land — the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree — 
It  Kas  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free, 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted. 
And  we  march  that  the  foot-prints  of  Mahomet* s  slaves 
May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers'  graven. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us. 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  as. 

2.  Ah !  vrhat  though  no  succor  advances, 
•^  Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 
Are  stretched  in  our  aid? — Be  the  combat  our  own  I 
\nd  we'll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone; 
F(ir  we've  sworn  by  our  country's  assaulters, 

virgins  they  've  dragged  from  our  alta«^ 


820  ELOCUTION. 

By  oar  massacred  patriots,  oar  children  in  chains. 
By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That,  living,  we  will  be  victorious. 
Or  that,  dying,  oar  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

3.  A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not: 

The  sword  that  we  've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  not ; 
Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid. 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 

Earth  may  hide,  waves  engulf,  fire  consume  us; 

But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us: 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves — 
But  we  've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 

And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us — 

To  the  charge! — heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

4.  This  day  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story? 
Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory  ? — 

Our  women — 0,  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair, 

Or  embrace  us  from  conquest,  with  wreaths  in  their  hair? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken. 

If  a  coward  there  be  that  would  slacken 
Till  we  've  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  ourselves  worth 
Being  sprung  from,  and  named  for,  the  god-like  of  earth. 

Strike  home  1  and  the  world  shall  revere  us 

As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

5.  Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion! 
Her  inlands,  her  isles  of  the  i>cean, 

Fanes  rebuilt,  and  fair  towns,  shall  with  jubilee  ring. 
And  the  Nine  shall  new  hallow  their  Helicon's  spring. 
Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness. 
That  were  cold,  and  extinguished  in  sadness ; 
While  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white  waving  arme^ 
Singing  joy  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms — 
When  the  blood  of  yon  Mussulman  cravens 
Shall  have  crimsoned  the  beaks  of  our  ravens ! 

CAMPBELL. 


CU.— WARREN'S  ADDRESS  AT  THE  BUNKER  HILL  BATTLE. 

I.  Stand !  the  ground  's  your  own,  my  braves  I 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves? 
Will  ye  look  for  greener  graves? 
Hope  ye  mercy  still? 


DRAMATIC,   BTC.  8111 

What's  the  mercy  despota  feel? 
Hear  it — in  that  battle  peal  1 
Read  it — on  yon  bristling  steel  1 
Ask  it — ^ye  who  will. 

2.  Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire? 
Will  yo  to  your  homes  retire? 
Look  behind  you !  they  're  afire  I 

And  before  you,  see 
Who  have  done  it!     From. the  vale 
On  they  cornel  and  will  ye  quail? 
Leaden  rain  and  iron  hail 

Let  their  welcome  bel 

3.  In  the  God  of  battles  trust  I 
Die  we  may — and  die  we  must: 
But,  0!  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consigned  so  well. 
As  where  heaven  its  dews  shall  shed 
On  the  martyred  patriot's  bed, 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head, 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell?  pikrpont. 


CLIL— TELL  ON  HIS  NATIVE  HILLS. 

1.  Oh,  with  what  pride  I  used 

To  walk  these  hills,  and  look  up  to  my  God, 

And  bless  him  that  the  land  was  free.     'T  was  free — 

From  end  to  end,  from  cliff  to  hike  't  was  free  I 

Free  as  our  torrents  are  that  leap  our  rocks. 

And  plow  our  valleys,  without  asking  leave  I 

Or  as  our  peaks,  that  wear  their  caps  of  snow 

In  yery  presence  of  the  regal  sun ! 

2.  IIow  happy  was  it  then !  I  loved 
Its  very  storms.     Yes,  I  have  sat 

In  my  boat  at  night,  when,  midway  o'er  the  lake. 
The  stars  went  out,  and  down  the  mountain  gorge 
The  wind  came  roaring.     I  have  sat  and  eyed 
The  thunder  breaking  from  his  cloud,  and  smiled 
To  see  him  shake  his  lightnings  o'er  my  head. 
And  think  I  had  no  master  save  his  own  1 

Z.  On  yonder  jutting  cliff— o'ertaken  there 
By  the  mountain  blast,  I  've  laid  me  flat  along. 


B22  ELOCUTION. 

And  while  gust  followed  gust  more  furiously. 

As  if  to  sweep  me  o'er  the  horrid  brink, 

And  I  have  thought  of  other  lands,  whose  storms 

Are  summer-flaws  to  those  of  mine,  and  just 

Have  wished  me  there — the  thought  that  mine  was  free 

lias  cheeked  that  wish,  and  I  have  raised  my  head, 

Ami  cried  in  thraldom  to  that  furious  wind, 

Blow  on' — this  is  the  land  of  liberty!  knowlgs 


CLITL— BRUGES  ADDRESS. 

1.  Scots,  who  have  with  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  often  led, 
"Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 

Or  to  glorious  victory ! 

2.  Now  *s  the  day,  and  now  's  the  hour — 
See  the  front  of  battle  lower — 

See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Edward,  chains  and  slavery! 

3.  Who  would  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Who  would  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Who  so  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Traitor !  coward !  turn,  and  flee  ! 

i.  Who  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  would  strongly  draw? 
Freeman  stand! — or  freeman  faM 
Caledonia,  on  with  me  ! 

3.  By  oppression's  woes  and  pains, 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains, 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall — they  shall  be  free  I 

6.  Lay  the  proud  usurpers  lowl 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty  's  in  every  blow ! 

Forward !  let  us  do  or  die  I  burne 


CLIV.— MACBETH  TO  THE  DAGGER.  * 

1.  Is  THIS  a  aagger  which  I  see  before  me, 
The  handln  toward  my  hand?     Come,  let  me  plutch  tbee 


DRAMATlr  323 

I  have  thee  not;  and  yet  I  see  thee  still.' 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 

To  feeling,  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 

A  dagger  of  the  mind?  a  false  creation 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-opprossed  brain? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. 

2.  Thou  marshal'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going; 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest.     I  see  thee  still ; 
And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon,  gouts  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  before.     There  's  no  such  thing  I — 
It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs 
Thus  to  mine  eyes. 

3.  Now  o'er  the  one-half  world, 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 

The  curtained  sleep:  now  witchcraft  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  withered  Murder, 

— Alarumed  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 

Whose  howl  's  his  watch — thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 

Toward  his  design  moves  like  a  ghost. 

4.  Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth. 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 

The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout; 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time. 

Which  now  suits  with  it     While  I  threat,  he  lives- 

I  go,  and  it  is  done ;  the  bell  invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell.  snAKsrE.\i«. 


CLV.— SPARTACUS  TO  THE  GLADIATORS  AT  CAPUA. 

1.  Ye  call  mo  chief;  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief  who 
f'*r  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every  shape 
of  man  or  beast  the  broad  empire  of  Rome  could  furnish, 
tnd  who  never  yet  lowered  his  arm.  If  there  be  one  among 
you  who  can  say,  that  ever,  in  public  fight  or  private  brawl, 
my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  stand  ^orth,  and 


824  ELOCUTION. 

Bay  it.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your  company  dare  face  m« 
on  the  bloody  sands,  let  them  come  on.  And  yet  I  was  not 
always  thus — a  hired  butcher,  a  savaL^e  chief  of  still  more 
savage  men  ! 

2.  My  ancestors  came  from  old  t^parta,  and  settled  among 
the  vine-clad  rocks  and  citron  groves  of  Cyrasella.  Mj 
early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brooks  by  which  I  sported ;  and 
when,  at  noon,  I  gathered  the  sheep  beneath  the  dhade,  and 
played  upon  the  shepherd's  flute,  there  was  a  friend,  the  son 
of  a  neighbor,  to  join  me  in  the  pastime.  We  led  our  flocks 
to  the  same  pasture,  and  partook  together  our  rustic  meal. 

3.  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we  were 
all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  which  shaded  our  cottage,  my 
grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Marathon,  and  Lcuctra; 
and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a 
defile  of  the  mountains,  had  withstood  a  whole  array.  I  did 
not  then  know  what  war  was  ;  but  ray  cheeks  burned,  I  knew 
not  why,  and  I  clasped  the  knees  of  that  venerable  man, 
until  my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from  off"  my  forehead, 
kissed  my  throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and 
think  no  more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars.  That 
very  night,  the  Romans  landed  on  our  coast.  I  saw  the 
breast  that  had  nourished  me  trampled  by  the  hoof  of  the 
war-horse ;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father  flung  amid  the 
blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling ! 

4.  To-day  I  killed  a  man  in  the  arena;  and,  when  I 
broke  his  helmet-clasps,  behold !  he  was  my  friend.  He 
knew  me,  smiled  faintly,  gasped,  and  died — the  same  sweet 
smile  upon  his  lips  that  I  had  marked,  when,  in  adven- 
turous boyhood,  we  scaled  the  lofty  cliff"  to  pluck  the  first 
ripe  grapes,  and  bear  them  home  in  childish  triumph !  I 
told  the  pretor  that  the  dead  man  had  been  ray  friend, 
generous  and  brave ;  and  I  begged  that  I  might  bear  away 
the  body,  to  burn  it  on  a  funeral  pile,  and  mourn  over  its 
ashes.  Ay  I  upon  my  knees,  amid  the  dust  and  blood  of  the 
arena,  I  begged  that  poor  boon,  while  all  the  assembled 
maids  and  matrons,  and  the  holy  virgins  they  call  Vestals, 
and  the  rabble,  shouted  in  derision,  deeming  it  rare  sport, 
forsooth,  to  see  Rome's  fiercest  {iladiat^ir  turn  pale  and  trcm- 


DRAMATIC,  ETC.  825 

blc  at  sight  of  that  piece  of  bleeding  clay  !  And  the  pretor 
drew  back  as  I  were  pollution,  and  sternly  said — "  Let  the 
carrion  rot ;  there  are  no  noble  men  but  llomans !"  And 
BO,  fellow-gladiators,  must  you,  and  so  must  I,  die  like  dogs. 

5.  0,  Rome!  Rome!  thou  hast  been  a  tender  nurse  to 
me.  Ay  1  thou  hast  given,  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid  shep- 
berd-ltid  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone  than  a  flute-note, 
cuscles  of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint;  taught  him  to  drive 
the  sword  through  plaited  mail  and  links  of  rugged  brass, 
and  warm  it  in  the  marrow  of  his  foe  : — to  gaze  into  the 
glaring  eye-balls  of  the*  tierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a 
boy  upon  a  laughing  girl!  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back, 
until  the  yellow  Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its 
deepest  ooze  thy  life-blood  lies  curdled  ! 

6.  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are !  The 
strength  of  brass  is  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-mor- 
row some  Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  perfume  from  his 
curly  locks,  shall  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  red  brawn, 
and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood.  Hark  !  hear  ye  yan 
lion  roaring  in  his  den?  'Tis  three  days  since  he  tasted 
flesh  ;  but  to-morrow  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon  yours — 
and  a  dainty  meal  for  him  ye  will  be ! 

7.  If  ye  are  beasts,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen,  wait- 
ing for  the  butcher's  knife!  If  ye  are  men, — follow  me! 
Strike  down  yon  guard,  gain  the  mountain  passes,  and  there 
do  bloody  work,  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae !  la 
Sparta  dead?  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins 
that  you  do  crouch  and  cower  like  a  belabored  hound  be- 
neath his  master's  lash?  O,  comrades!  warriors!  Thracians 
— if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  ourselves !  If  we  must 
slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors!  If  we  must  die, 
let  it  be  under  the  clear  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  in  nobloi 
hoDorable  battle!  k.  kellogq. 


CLVL— WOlfiEY'8  FALL. 

1.  Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatni^sl 
Thin  iH  the  state  of  man  ;  to-day  he  puts  forth 
Th«  t^mder  leaves  of  hope,  to-morrow  blot»um8. 


32U  ELOCUTION. 

And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him ; 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost — a  killing  frost ; 
And  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man  I  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening — nips  the  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do. 

2.  I  have  ventured. 

Like  little  wanton  boys,  that  swim  on  bladders, 

These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory, 

But  far  beyond  my  depth :  my  high-blown  pride 

At  length  broke  under  me,  and  now  has  left  me. 

Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 

Of  a  rude  stream  that  must  forever  hide  me. 

3.  Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye  I 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened;  oh!  how  wretched 

Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors! 

There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  he  would  aspire  to, 

That  sweet  aspect  of  princes  and  his  ruin, 

More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have; 

And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 

Never  to  hope  again.  snAKs\^ii 


CLVn.— THE  RUM  MANIAC. 

1.  "Say,  Doctor,  may  I  not  have  rum, 
To  quench  this  burning  thirst  within? 
Here  on  this  cursed  bed  I  lie, 

And  can  not  get  one  drop  of  gin. 
I  ask  not  health,  nor  even  life — 
Life  1  what  a  curse  it 's  been  to  me ! 
I'd  rather  sink  in  deepest  hell, 
Than  drink  again  its  misery. 

2.  "But,  Doctor,  may  I  not  have  rum? 
One  drop  alone  is  all  I  crave: 

Grant  this  small  boon — I  ask  no  more- 
Then  I  '11  defy — ^yes,  e'en  the  grave  ; 
Then,  without  fear,  I  '11  fold  my  arms. 
And  bid  the  monster  strike  his  dart. 
To  haste  me  from  this  world  of  woe, 
And  claim  his  own — this  ruined  heart 

3.  "  A  thousand  curses  on  his  head 
Who  gave  me  first  the  poisoned  bowl, 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  327 

Who  taught  me  first  this  bano  to  drink — 
Drink — death  and  ruin  to  my  soul. 
My  soul !  oh  cruel,  horrid  thought  1 
Full  well  I  know  thy  certain  fate ; 
With  what  instinctive  horror  shrinks 
The  spirit  from  that  awful  state! 

4.  "  Lost— lost— I  know  forever  lost  I 
To  me  no  ray  of  hope  can  come : 

My  ftite  is  scaled ;  my  doom  is 

But  give  mo  rum  ;  I  will  have  rum. 
But,  Doctor,  do  n't  you  see  him  there  ? 
In  that  dark  corner  low  ho  sits  ; 
See !  how  he  sports  his  fiery  tongue, 
And  at  me  burning  brimstone  spits ! 

5.  "  Say,  do  n't  you  see  this  demon  fierce! 
Does  no  one  hear?  will  no  one  come? 

Oh  save  mo— save  me — I  will  give — 
But  rum !  I  must  have — will  have  rum  ! 
Ah  I  now  he's  gone ;  once  more  I  'm  free : 
He — the  boasting  knave  and  liar — 
lie  said  that  he  would  take  me  oflf 
Down  to But  there  I  my  bed's  on  fire  I 

6.  "Fire!  water!  help!  come,  haste — I 'I    lie: 
Come,  take  me  from  this  burning  bed: 

The  smoke — I  'm  choking — can  not  cry; 

There  now — it 's  catching  at  my  head ! 

But  see !  again  that  demon's  come ; 

Look !  there  he  peeps  through  yonder  crack , 

Mark  how  his  burning  eyeballs  llsish ! 

llow  fierce  he  grins  !  what  brought  him  back  ? 

7.  There  stands  his  burning  coach  of  fire; 
lie  smiles  and  beckons  me  to  come — 
What  are  those  words  he  's  written  there? 

•  In  hell,  we  never  want  for  rum !' " 
One  loud,  one  piercing  shriek  was  heard i 
One  yell  rang  out  upon  the  air; 
One  sound,  and  one  alone,  came  forth — 
The  victim's  cry  of  wild  despair. 

8.  "Why  longer  wait?    I  'm  ripe  for  hell; 
A  spirit 's  sent  to  bear  me  down : 


•<i^8  KLOCUTIOM. 

There,  in  the  regions  of  the  lost, 

1  sure  will  wear  a  fiery  crown. 

Damned,  I  know,  without  a  hope! — 

One  moment  more,  and  then  I  *11  come! — 

And  there  I  '11  quench  my  awful  thirst 

With  boiling,  burning,  fiery  ruml  ALijaox. 


CLVni.— BATTLE  HYMN. 

1.  Father  of  earth  and  heavenl  I  call  thy  name! 

Round  me  the  smoke  and  shout  of  battle  roll ; 
My  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  rustling  flame ; 

Father!  sustain  un  untried  soldier's  soul 

Or  life,  or  death,  whatever  bo  the  goal 
That  crowns  or  closes  round  the  struggling  hour, 

Thou  knowest,  if  ever  from  my  spirit  stole 
One  deeper  prayer,  't  was  that  no  cloud  might  lower 
On  my  young  fame ! — 0  hear  1  God  of  eternal  power ! 

2.  Now  for  the  fight !     Now  for  the  cannon-peal ! 

Forward — through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud,  and  fire, 
Glorious  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  clash  of  steel. 

The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire! 

They  shake !  like  broken  waves  their  squares  retire ! 
On  then,  hussars  !     Now  give  them  rein  and  heel ; 

Think  of  the  orphaned  child,  the  murdered  sire: 
Earth  cries  for  blood ! — in  thunder  on  them  wheel ! 
This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  triumph-seal ! 

THEO.    KORNE*. 


CLIX.— ROCKS  OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

AocKS  of  my  country !  let  the  cloud  your  crested  bights  array. 
And  rise  yo,  like  a  fortress  proud,  above  the  surge  and  spray  I 
My  spirit  greets  you  as  ye  stand,  breasting  the  billow's  foam: 
O !  thus  forever  guard  the  land,  the  sacred  land  of  home  I 

I  have  left  rich  blue  skies  behind,  lighting  up  classic  shrines, 
And  music  in  the  southern  wind,  and  sunshine  on  the  vines. 
The  breathings  of  the  myrtle-flowers  have  floated  o'er  my  way; 
The  pilgrim's  voice,  tit  vesper-hours,  hath  soothed  me  with  it? 
lay. 


DRAMATIC,   ECT.  329 

3.  The  isles  of  Greece,  the  hills  of  Spain,  the  purple  heavens  of 

Rome, 
Yes,  all  are  glorious — yet  n^n'm  I  bless  thee,  Land  of  Home! 
For  thine  the  sabbath  peace,  my  land !  and  thine  the  guarded 

hearth ; 
And  thine  the  dead,  the  noble  band,  that  make  'he  holy  earth. 

I    Their  voices  meet  me  in  thy  breeze,  their  steps  are  on  thy 

plains ; 
Their  names  by  old  majestic  trees  are  whispered  round  thy 

fanes. 
Their  blood  hath  mingled  with  the  tide  of  thine  exulting  sea; 
0 !  be  it  still  a  joy,  a  pride,  to  live  and  die  for  thee ! 

MRS.    nEMANS. 


CLX.— BRUTUS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  LUCRETIA. 

1.  Tnus,  thus,  my  friends!  Hist  as  our  breaking  hearts 
Permitted  utterance,  we  have  told  our  story: 

And  now,  to  say  one  word  of  the  imposture — 
The  mask  necessity  has  made  me  wear. 
When  the  ferocious  malice  of  your  king- 
King!  do  I  call  him? — when  the  monster,  Tarquin. 
Slew,  as  most  of  you  may  well  remember, 
My  father,  Marcus,  and  my  elder  brother. 
Envying  at  once  their  virtues  and  their  wealth, 
How  could  I  hope  a  shelter  from  his  power. 
But  in  the  false  face  I  have  worn  so  long? 

2.  Would  you  know  why  I  summoned  you  together? 
Ask  ye  what  brings  me  here  ?     Behold  this  dagger, 
Clotted  with  gore  !     Behold  that  frozen  corse  ! 

See  where  the  lost  Lucrctia  sleeps  in  death ! 
She  was  the  mark  and  model  of  the  time, 
The  mold  in  which  eajh  female  face  was  formed, 
The  very  shrine  and  sacristy  of  virtue ! 

3.  The  worthiest  of  the  worthy !  not  the  nympb 
Who  met  old  Numa  in  his  hallowed  walks, 

And  whispered  in  his  ear  her  strains  divine. 
Can  I  conceive  beyond  her! — the  young  choir 
Of  vestal  virgins  bent  to  hor ! — Such  a  mind. 
Might  have  abashed  the  boldest  libertine, 
And  turned  desire  to  reverential  love 
And  holi**«f  iiflTooti.in  t 
Kint. 


330  ELOCUTION. 

4.  Oh  my  countrymen  1 

You  all  can  witness  when  that  she  went  forth 

It  was  a  holiday  in  Rome:  old  age 

Forgot  its  crutch ;  labor  its  task !  all  ran ; 

And  mothers,  turning  to  their  daughters,  cried 

"There,  there  ^s  Lucretial" — Now  look  ye  where  she  lies 

That  beauteous  flower,  that  innocent  swoet  rose, 

Tom  up  by  ruthless  violence— gone  I  gone  I 

5.  Say — would  you  seek  instructions  I  would  you  seek 
What  ye  should  do? — Ask  ye  yon  conscious  walls 
Which  saw  his  poisoned  brother,  saw  the  crime 
Committed  there,  and  they  will  cry.  Revenge  I— 

Ask  yonder  senate-house,  whose  stones  are  purple 
With  human  blood,  and  it  will  cry.  Revenge! 
Go  to  the  tomb  where  lie  his  murdered  wife. 
And  the  poor  queen  who  loved  him  as  her  son, 
Their  unappeased  ghosts  will  shriek,  Revenge! 
The  temples  of  the  gods,  the  all-viewing  heaven,— 
The  gods  themselves — will  justify  the  cry. 
And  swell  the  general  sound — Revenge !  Revenge ! 

PAYNE 


CLXL— VARIETIES. 
1. — RICHARD   II.  ON   THE   VANITY   OP   POWER. 

1.  Of  comfort  no  man  speak: 

Let 's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms,  and  epitaphs ; 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let 's  choose  executors  and  talk  of  wills : 
And  yet  not  so — for  what  can  we  bequeath. 
Save  our  depos-od  bodies  to  the  ground? 
Our  lands,  our  lives,  and  all  are  Bolingbrooke^s, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own,  but  death. 
And  that  small  model  of  our  barren  earth. 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 

2.  For  heaven's  sake  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground. 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings — 

How  some  have  been  deposed,  some  slain  in  war; 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  deposed; 
Some  poisoned  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  killed; 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  331 

All  murdered — for  within  the  hollow  crown, 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court,  and  there  the  antic  sits, 
ScoflBng  bis  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp ; 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  monarchize,  be  feared  and  killed  with  looks  ; 
Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit — 
As  if  this  flesh  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable:  and  humored  thus. 
Comes  at  the  last  and  with  a  little  pin 
Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and— farewell,  king! 

SHAKSPEARI 
2. — PITY     FOR    A    POOR    OLD    MAN. 

1.  WflAT  cutting  bliist !  and  he  can  scarcely  crawl ; 
He  freezes  as  he  moves — he  dies !  if  he  should  fall ; 
Witli  cruel  fierceness  drives  this  icy  sleet, 

And  must  a  Christian  perish  in  the  street, 

In  sight  of  Christians?— There  !  at  last  he  lies- 

Nor  unsupported  can  he  ever  rise: 

He  can  not  live. — In  pity  do  behold 

The  man  affrighted,  weeping,  trembling,  cold: 

Oh  1  how  those  flakes  of  snow  their  entrance  win 

Through  the  poor  rags,  and  keep  the  frost  within; 

His  very  heart  seems  frozen  as  he  goes, 

Leading  that  starved  companion  of  his  woes: 

He  tried  to  pray— his  lips,  I  saw  them  move, 

And  he  so  turned  his  piteous  looks  above ; 

But  the  fierce  wind  the  willing  heart  opposed. 

And,  ere  ho  spoke,  the  lips  in  misery  closed : 

Poor  suffering  object !  yes,  for  ease  you  prayed, 

And  God  will  hear — Ho  only,  I  'm  afraid. 

2.  When  reached  his  home  to  what  a  cheerless  fir« 
And  chilling  bed  will  those  cold  limbs  retire? 

Yet  ragged,  wretched  as  it  is,  that  bed 

Takes  half  the  space  of  his  contracted  shed ; 

I  saw  the  thorns  beside  the  narrow  grate, 

With  straw  collected  in  a  putrid  state: 

There  will  he,  kneeling,  strive  the  fire  to  raise. 

And  that  will  warm  him  rather  than  the  blaze; 

The  sullen,  smoky  blaze,  that  can  not  last 

One  moment  after  his  attempt  is  past: 

And  I  so  warmly  and  so  purely  laid, 

To  sink  to  rest— indco<l.   I    un  afraid.  crabby 


332  ELOCUTION. 

3. — SEYD'te   DETERMINED   REVENGE. 

liuLNAR*!— if  for  each  drop  of  blood  a  gem 

Were  offered  rich  as  Stamboul's  diadem ; 

If  for  each  hair  of  his  a  massy  mine 

Of  virgin  ore  should  supplicating;  shine ; 

Jf  all  our  Arab  tales  divulge  or  dream 

Of  wealth  were  here — that  gold  should  not  redeem  I 

It  had  not  now  redeemed  a  single  hour; 

But  that  I  know  him  fettered,  in  my  power; 

And,  thirsting  for  revenge,  I  ponder  still 

On  pangs  that  longest  rack,  and  latest  kill.  bvron 

4.  --KKVKN(;i;. 

Must  I  despise  thee  too,  as  well  as  hate  thee? 

Complain  of  grief! — Complain  thou  art  a  man. 

Priam  from  fortune's  lofty  summit  fell. 

Great  Alexander  'mid  his  conquests  mourned, 

Heroes  and  demigods  have  known  their  sorrows, 

Caesars  have  wept — and  I  have  had  my  blow ! 

But 't  is  revenged ;  and  now,  my  work  is  done ! 

Yet,  ere  I  fall,  be  it  one  part  of  vengeance 

To  make  even  thee  confess  that  I  am  just. 

Thou  seest  a  prince,  whose  father  thou  hast  slain. 

Whose  native  country  thou  hast  laid  in  blood, 

Whose  sacred  person — oh ! — thou  hast  profaned, 

Whose  reign  extinguished !     What  was  left  to  me. 

So  highly  born  ? — No  kingdom,  but  revenge  ! 

No  treasure,  but  thy  tortures,  and  thy  groans! 

If  cold  white  mortals  censure  this  great  deed, 

Warn  them,  they  judge  not  of  superior  beings. 

Souls  made  of  fire,  and  children  of  the  sun. 

With  whom  revenge  is  virtue!  y<^eino 


CLXU.— OTHELLO'S  APOLOGY. 

1.  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  seigniors*. 
My  very  noble,  and  approved  good  masters: 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true ;  true,  I  have  married  her : 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent;  no  more. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  dS'S 

2.  Rude  am  I  in  speech, 

And  little  blessed  with  the  set  phrase  of  peace : 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith, 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field  ; 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broils  and  battle; 
And  therefore,  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause. 
In  speaking  of  myself 

3.  Yet,  by  your  patience, 

I  will,  a  round,  unvarnished  tale  deliver. 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love ;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 

What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic — 

For  such  proceedings  I  am  charged  withal — 

I  won  his  daughter  with 

4.  Her  father  loved  me;  otc  invited  me; 
Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life, 

From  year  to  year:  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 

That  I  had  past 

I  ran  it  through,  e'en  from  my  boyish  days. 

To  the  very  moment,  that  he  bade  me  tell  it 

Wherein  I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances  ; 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field ; 

Of  hairbreadth  'scapes,  in  the  imminent  deadly  breach ; 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 

And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence, 

And  with  it  all  my  travel's  liistory. 

5.  All  these  to  hear. 

Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline ; 
But  still  the  house  aflfairs  would  draw  her  thence, 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear. 
Devour  up  my  discourse.     Which,  I  observing. 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour,  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart. 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate ; 
Whereof  by  parcels,  she  had  something  heard, 
Hut  not  distinctly. 

6.  I  did  consent ; 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 
When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  struka, 


334  ELOCUTION. 

That  by  my  youth  suffered.     My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains,  a  world  of  sighs. 

She  swore  in  faith,  'i  was  strange,  't  was  passing  strange ; 

'T  was  pitiful ;  't  was  wondrous  pitiful ; 

She  wished  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  wished 

That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man. 

7.  She  thanked  me, 
And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 
And  that  would  woo  he?.     On  this  hint  I  spake ; 
She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  passed ; 
And  I  loved  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 
Tliis  is  the  only  witchcraft  which  I  've  used. 

SUAKSPBARI 


CLXm.— HOTSPUR'S  DESCKIPTION  OF  A  FOP 

1.  Mt  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done. 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil. 
Breathless,  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dressed. 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin,  new  reaped 
Showed  like  stubble-land  at  harvest  home. 

2.  lie  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 
And,  twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb,  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which,  ever  and  anon, 

lie  gave  his  nose.     And  still  he  smiled,  and  talked. 

And  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  called  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly,  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wiw"d  and  his  nobility. 

3.  With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms, 

He  questioned  me ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 

My  prisoners,  in  her  majesty's  behalf; 

I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds,  being  galled 

To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience. 

Answered  negligently — I  know  not  what — 

He  should,  or  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad, 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet. 


DRAMATIC,     ETC  335 

And  talk  so  liko  a  waiting  gentlewuman, 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds — heaven  save  the  mark-- 

And  telling  me  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth, 

Was  spermaceti — for  an  inward  bruise: 

4.  And  that  it  was  great  pity — so  it  was — 
That  villainous  saltpeter  should  be  digged 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
WL*vh  many  a  good,  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns. 
Ho  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 

5.  This  bald,  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said  ; 

And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current,  for  an  accusation, 
Betwixt  my  love,  and  your  high  majesty. 

SHAKSPEARS. 


CLXIV.— THE  GAMBLER'S  WIFE. 

1.  Dark  is  the  night  1  how  dark — no  light — no  firel 
Cold,  on  the  hearth,  the  last  faint  sparks  expire ! 
Shivering  she  watches  by  the  cradle  side. 

For  him  who  pledged  her  love — last  year  a  bride  1 

2.  "Uarkl  'tis  his  footstep!     No — 'tis  past:  'tis  gone: 
Tick ! — Tick  I — How  wearily  the  time  crawls  on  ! 
Why  snould  he  leave  me  thus  ?     He  once  was  kind  1 
And  I  believed  'twould  last — how  mad  1— how  blind! 

3.  "  Rest  thee,  my  babe  1 — rest  on  ! — 'tis  hunger's  cry  I 
Sleep ! — for  there  is  no  food !  the  fount  is  dry ! 
Famine  and  cold  their  wearying  work  have  done, 

My  heart  must  break ! — and  thou !"    The  clock  strikes  one 

4  '•  Hush  !  'tis  the  dice-box !     Yes,  he's  there,  he's  there, 
For  this!  for  this  he  leaves  me  to  despair! 

Leaves  love!  leaves  truth!  his  wife!  his  child!  for  what? 
The  wanton's  smile — the  villain — and  the  sot! 

5  "  Yet  I'll  not  curse  him !     No !  'tis  all  in  vain  ! 
'Tis  long  to  wait,  but  sure  he'll  come  again ! 
And  I  could  starve  and  bless  hira,  but  for  yoa, 

My  rhiM!-his  rhild !-— O  fiend!"     The  clock  strikes  two 


33t)  ELOCUTION. 

•'.    •    ll.ukl  how  the  sign-boar. !  The  Ma  '.•y\ 

M        '  1  !     A  dirge  swells  llnough  the  cloudy  sky! 

II  knock!  he  comes! — he  comes  once  more! 
"lis  hui  e  flaps  1     Thy  hope  is  o'er. 

7.  "Can  he  dcHcrt  mo  thus?     He  knows  I  stiy 
Ni<rht  nft^r  night  in  loneliness  to  pray 

'  n — and  yet  he  sees  no  tear ! 
•an  not  be.     lie  ^v^ll  be  here, 

"^  '  more  ol 

III  -ii    It  col  '  ,lii)j;!     But  we  will  not  part 
Ilu-l.:uHi  :      '                         ,  :— It  i?  not  ho! 

Oh  God:  Miy  child!"     T  oe. 

I.  Til  M-!  the  gliinmeriit^  gpark  hath  fled 

Th--    •  ., bored  with  the  doad! 

On  the  cold  i 

The  child  lic.s 

The  gambler  came  at  !  - 

Dead  silence  reiened  aromui — in»'  cih-k  -i:;  k  luur! 

eOATES. 


CLXW     <'A--!rS  A'..\[VST  a^SAR. 

1.  Hon":  is  the  subject  of  my  story, 
I  can  not  tell  what  you,  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life ;  but  for  my  single  self, 
I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  myself. 
I  ^  Caesar;  so  were  you; 

Wc  ..-..>-   V.  .:.  .o  :  — :  well;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  a?^  he. 

2.  For,  once  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day. 
The  troubled  Tiber,  chafing  with  its  shores, 
Caesar  says  to  me — "  Barest  thou,  Cassius,  now 
Leap  in  with  me,  into  this  angry  flood. 

And  swim  to  yonder  point?" — Upon  the  word, 

Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 

And  bade  him  follow;  so,  indeed  he  did. 

The  torrent  roared,  and  we  did  buJSet  it; 

With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside. 

And  steniiuing  it,  with  hearts  of. controversy. 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  337 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Caesar  cried — "  Help  mo,  Cassius,  or  I  sink." 

3.  I,  as  iEneas,  our  great  ancestor, 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy,  upon  his  shoulder 

The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 

Did  I  the  tired  Caesar;  and  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god ;  and  Cassius  is 

A.  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  to  him. 

4.  He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake :  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake  ; 

His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly ; 

And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 

Did  lose  its  luster ;  I  did  hear  him  groan. 

Aye,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

"Alas!"  it  cried — "Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius." 

5.  Ye  gods  I  it  doth  amaze  me, 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 

And  bear  the  palm  alone. 

Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 

Like  a  Colossus,  and  we,  petty  men, 

Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about. 

To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 

6.  Men,  at  some  time,  are  masters  of  their  fates: 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars. 

But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus  and  Caesar!     What  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together :  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them :  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them :  *it  is  as  heavy :  conjure  with  'em : 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. 

7.  Now,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  onc«, 
Upon  what  meats  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 

That  ho  hath  grown  so  great?     Age,  thou  art  ashamed; 
Rome,  thou  host  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods. 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  fammi  with  more  tlian  with  one  .nan  ? 
KiDD.— 29 


B88  ELOCUTION. 

When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talked  of  Rome, 

That  her  wide  walls  encompassed  but  one  man? 

Oh  I  you,  and  1  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 

There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brooked 

The  infernal  devil,  to  keep  his  state  in  Home, 

As  easily  as  a  king.  shakspkasi 


CLXVI.— RIENZrS  ADDRESS  TO  THE  ROMANS. 

1.  I  COME  not  here  to  talk.    You  know  too  well 
The  story  of  our  thralldom.    "We  are  slaves  I 
The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course  and  lights 

A  race  of  slaves!     lie  sets,  and  his  last  beams 
Fall  on  a  slave ;  not  such  as  swept  along 
By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  led 
To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame : 
But  base,  ignoble  slaves ;  slaves  to  a  horde 
Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots,  lords, 
Rich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages ; 
Strong  in  some  hundred  spearm""  •  ""V'   -'••it 
In  that  strange  spell — a  name. 

2.  Each  hour,  dark  fraud, 

Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder. 

Cry  out  against  them.     But  this  very  day 

An  honest  man,  my  neighbor — there  he  stands — 

Was  struck — struck  like  a  dog,  by  one  who  wore 

The  badge  of  Ursini ;  because,  forsooth, 

lie  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air. 

Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts, 

At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian !     Be  we  men, 

And  suffer  such  dishonor?  men,  and  wash  not 

The  stain  away  in  blood?     Such  shames  are  compar.n; 

I  have  known  deeper  vrrongs ;  I,  that  speak  to  ye 

I  had  a  brother  once — a  gracious  boy. 

Full  of  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope. 

Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy:  there  was  the  look 

Of  heaven  upon  his  face,  which  limners  give 

To  the  beloved  disciple. 

3.  How  I  loved 

•\&t  gracious  boy !     Younger  by  fifteen  years, 
..»rother  at  once,  and  son  !     He  left  my  side, 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  o39 

A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheek,  a  smile 
Parting  liis  innocent  lips.     In  one  short  hour, 
That  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain  I     I  saw 
The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 
For  vengeance!     Rouse,  ye  Romans!  rouse,  ye  shxvesl 
Have  ye  brave  sons?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fair  daughters?     Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained, 
Dishonored ;  and  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice. 
Be  answered  by  the  lash! 

4.  Yet  this  is  Rome, 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and,  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty,  ruled  the  world!     Yet  we  are  Romans  1 
Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman, 
Was  greater  than  a  king !  and  once  again— 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus!  once,  again,  I  swear. 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free.  miss  mitford 


CLXVH.— THE  SAILOR  BOY'S  DREAM. 

I    In  slumbers  of  midnight  the  sailor-boy  lay ; 

His  hammock  swung  loose  at  the  sport  of  the  wind; 
But  watch-worn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew  away. 
And  yisions  of  happiness  danced  X)'er  his  mind. 

2.  He  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native  bowers. 

And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  merry  morn  ; 
While  memory  stood  sidewise,  half-covered  with  flowers. 
And  restored  every  rose,  but  secreted  its  thorn. 

3.  Then  fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide. 

And  bade  the  young  dreamer  in  ccstacy  rise — 

Now  far,  far  behind  l>im  the  green  waters  glide. 

And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his  eyes. 

4    The  jessamine  clambers  in  flower  o'er  the  thatch, 

And  the  swallow  sings  sweet  from  her  nest  in  the  wall 
All  trembling  >vith  transport,  he  raises  the  latch, 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his  call. 

5.  A  father  bends  o'er  him  with  looks  of  delight, 

His  check  ib  impearlcd  witli  a  mother's  warm  *car. 


340  ELOCUTION 

And  the  lips  of  the  lx)y  in  a  love-kiss  unite 

With  tlie  lips  of  the  maid  whom  his  bosom  holds  dear. 

6  The  heart  of  the  slee|Kir  beats  high  in  his  breast, 

Joy  quickens  his  pulse — all  his  hardships  seeiji  o'er, 
And  a  murmur  of  happiness  steals  through  his  rest- 
"Oh  God  thou  hast  blest  me — I  ask  for  no  more." 

7  Ah!  whnt  is  that  flame,  which  now  bursts  on  his  eye? 

Ah!  wiiat  \A  that  sound  which  now  larums  his  ear? 
'T  is  the  lightning's  red  glare,  painting  hell  on  the  sky ! 
'T  is  the  crash  of  the  thunder,  the  groan  of  the  sphere! 

S.  lie  springs  from  his  hammock— he  flies  to  the  deck;' 
Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire — 
Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck — 
The  masts  fly  in  splinters — the  shrouds  are  on  fire ! 

U.  Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell — 
In  vain  the  lost  wreteh  calls  on  Mercy  to  save; 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 
And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er  the  wave  1 

10.  Oh!  sailor-boy,  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight  I 

In  darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work  of  bliss — 
Where  now  is  the  picture  that  fancy  touched  bright, 
Thy  parent's  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honeyed  kiss? 

11.  Oh!  sailor-boy!  sailor-boy!  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay; 
Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the  main, 
Full  many  a  score  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

12.  No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for  thee. 

Or  redeem  form  or  frame  from  the  merciless  surge : 
But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding-sheet  be. 
And  winds,  in  the  midnight  of  winter,  thy  dirge. 

13    On  beds  of  green  sea-flowers  thy  limbs  shall  be  laid. 
Around  thy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow  ; 
Of  thy  fair  yellow  locks  threads  of  amber  be  made. 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

14.  Days,  months,  years,  and  ages,  shall  circle  away, 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll — 
Earth  loses  thy  pattern  forever  and  aye — • 
Oh  !  sailor-boy !  sailor-boy  !  peace  to  thy  soul,     dimonu. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  34J 

CLXVIIL— HENRY  V.  AT  HARFLEUR. 

i.  Once  more  unto  tho  breach,  dear  Inends,  once  more; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead. 
In  peace  there  's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 
Aa  modest  stillness  and  humility ; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger ; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  liard-favorcd  rage; 
Then  lend  tho  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head 
Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it, 
As  fearfully  as  doth  a  gall-ed  rock 
O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 
Swilled  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 

2.  Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide. 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 

To  his  full  hight.     Now  on,  you  noblest  English, 

Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fathers  of  war-proof; 

Fathers,  that  like  so  many  Alexanders, 

Ilave  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 

And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument : 

Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood, 

And  teach  them  how  to  warl 

3.  And  you,  good  yeomen. 

Whose  limbs  arc  made  in  England,  show  us  here 

Tne  mettle  of  your  pasture ;  let  us  swear 

That  you  are  worth  your  breeding,  which  I  doubt  not . 

For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base 

That  hath  not  noble  luster  in  your  eye ; 

I  see  you  stand  like  grayhounds  in  the  slips, 

Straining  upon  tho  start:  the  game  's  a-foot; 

Follow  your  spirit ;  and,  upon  this  charge, 

Cry,  Heaven  for  Harry,  England,  and  St  George  I 

SnAKSPEAftl. 


CLXIX.— SEVEN  AGES  OF  MAN. 

\    All  the  world  's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players: 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances. 


842  ELOCUTION. 

And  one  man  in  his  tiiae  plays  many  parts, 
II in  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arras. 
Then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school     And  then,  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  a  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then,  a  soldier, 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  .bearded  like  a  pard. 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mmitli. 

2.  And  then,  the  ji..  i.v^c, 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined, 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances: 
And  so  he  plays  his  part.     The  sixth  age  shifls 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon, 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 
Ilis  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank,  and  his  big  manly  Toice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history. 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  siuis  every  thing. 

8HAKSPEARI 


CLXX.— PARRHASrUS. 


I.  Parrhasius  stood,  gazing  forgetfully 
Upon  his  canvas.     There  Prometheus  lay. 
Chained  to  the  cold  rocks  of  Mount  Caucasus, 
The  vultures  at  his  vitals,  and  the  links 
Of  the  lame  Lemnian  festering  in  his  flesh ; 
And,  as  the  painter's  mind  felt  through  the  dim. 
Rapt  mystery,  and  plucked  the  shadows  wild 
Forth  with  his  reaching  fancy,  and  with  form 
And  color  clad  them,  his  fine,  earnest  eye 
Flashed  with  a  passionate  fire,  and  the  quick  curl 
Of  his  thin  nostril,  and  his  quivering  lip, 
Were  like  the  winged  god's  breathing  from  hi^  flight. 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  343 

2  •  l>ring  me  the  captive  now! 

My  hand  feels  skillful,  and  the  shadows  lift 
From  my  waked  spirit  airily  and  swift; 

And  I  could  paint  the  bow 
Tpon  the  bended  heavens;  around  me  play 
Colors  of  such  divinity  to-day. 

3  "  Ua !  bind  him  on  his  back  1 

Look  I  as  Prometheus  in  my  picture  herel 
Quick!  or  he  faints!  stand  with  the  cordial  near  I 

Now,  bend  him  to  the  rack ! 
Press  down  the  poisoned  links  into  his  flesh  I 
And  tear  agape  that  healing  wound  afresh ! 

4.  •'  So  I  let  him  writhe !     IIow  long 

Will  he  live  thus  ?    Quick,  my  good  pencil,  now  I 
What  a  fine  agony  works  upon  his  brow  ! 

Ila!  gray-haired,  and  so  strong! 
IIow  fearfully  he  stifles  that  short  moan ! 
Gods !  if  I  could  but  paint  a  dying  groan ! 

5  "  •  Pity  *  thee  ?    So  I  do  ; 

I  pity  the  dumb  victim  at  the  altar; 

But  does  the  robed  priest  for  his  pity  falter? 

I  'd  rack  thee,  though  I  knew 
A  thousand  lives  were  perishing  in  thine ; 
What  were  ten  thousand  to  a  fame  like  mine? 

G.  Ahl  there  's  a  deathless  name  I 

A  spirit  that  the  smothering  vault  shall  spurn. 
And,  like  a  steadfast  planet,  mount  and  bum ; 

And  though  its  crown  of  flame 
Consumed  my  brain  to  ashes  as  it  won  me ; 
By  all  the  fiery  st  nluck  it  on  me! 

7  "  Ay,  though  it  bid  me  rifle 

My  heart's  last  fount  for  its  insatiate  thirst ; 
Though  every  life-strung  nerve  bo  maddened  firtt; 

Though  it  should  bid  me  stifle 
The  yearning  in  my  throat  for  my  sweet  child. 
And  taunt  its  mother  till  my  brain  went  wild . 

6.  "All  I  I  wo'ild  do  it  all, 

Sooner  than  die,  like  a  dull  worm,  to  rot; 
Thrust  foully  in  the  earth  to  be  forgot 
Oh  heavenH!  but  I  appall 


344  ELOCUTION. 

Your  heart,  old  man  1  forgive — ha  I  on  your  lives 
Let  him  not  faint  1  rack  him  till  he  revives  I 

9.  "  Vain— vain — ^give  o'er.     His  eye 

Glazes  apace.     He  doea  not  feel  you  now. 
Stand  back  I     I  Ml  paint  the  death  dew  on  his  brow  1 

Gods!  if  he  do  not  die 
But  for  one  moment — one — till  I  eclipse 
Conception  with  the  scorn  of  those  calm  lips  I 

10  ••  Shivering !     Hark  1  he  mutters 

Brokenly  now  ;  that  was  a  diflBcult  breath  ; 
Another  ?    Wilt  thou  never  come,  oh,  D»»:\th  ? 

Look  !  how  his  temple  flutters ! 
Is  his  heart  still?     Aha!  lid  up  his  head  ! 
He  shudders — ^gasps — Jove  help  him— so,  he  's  dead  1" 

11.  How  like  a  mountain  devil  in  the  heart 
Rules  this  unreined  ambition !     Let  it  once 
But  play  the  monarch,  and  its  haughty  brow 
Glows  with  a  beauty  that  bewilders  thought 
And  unthrones  peace  forever.     Putting  on 
The  very  pomp  of  Lucifer,  it  turns 
The  heart  to  ashes,  and  with  not  a  spring 
Left  in  the  desert  for  the  spirit's  lip. 
We  look  upon  our  splendor,  and  forget 
The  thirst  of  which  we  perish !  willis. 


CLXXI.— THE  SEMINOLE'S  DEFIANCE. 

I.  Blaze,  with  your  serried  columns!  I  will  not  bend  the  knee; 
The  shackle  ne'er  again  shall  bind  the  arm  which  now  is  free ! 
I  've  mailed  it  with  the  thunder   when  the  tempest  muttered 

low  ; 
And  where  it  falls,  ye  well  may  dread  the  lightning  of  its  blow 
I  've  scared  you  in  the  city ;  I  've  scalped  you  on  the  plain ; 
Go,  count  your  chosen  where  they  fell  beneath  my  leaden  rainl 
I  scorn  your  proffered  treaty;  the  pale-face  I  defy; 
Revenge  is  stamped  upon  my  spear,  and  "blood"  my  battlr- 

cry! 

S.  Some  strike  for  hope  of  booty ;  some  to  defend  their  all  :— 
I  battle  for  the  jr y  I  have  to  see  the  white  man  falL 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  845 

1  love,  among  the  wounded,  to  hear  his  dying  moan, 

And  catch,  while  chanting  at  his  side,  the  music  of  hLs  «;r":in. 

Ye 'to  trailed  mo  through  the  forest;  ye 've  tracked  me  o'er 

the  stream ; 
And  struggling  through  the  everglade  your  bristling  bayoneta 

gleam. 
But  I  stand  as  should  the  warrior,  with  his  rifle  and  his  spoar ; 
The  scalp  of  vengeance  still  is  red,  and  warns  you — '*  O  ui 

not  here  V 

Think  ye  to  find  my  homestead?— I  gave  it  to  the  fire. 
My  tawny  household  do  ye  seek? — I  am  a  childless  sire. 
But,  should  ye  crave  life's  nourishment,  enough  I  have,  and 

good; 
I  live  on  hate — 't  is  all  my  bread ;  yet  light  is  not  my  food. 
I  loathe  you  with  my  bosom!  I  scorn  you  with  mine  eye  I 
And  I  '11  taunt  you  with  my  latest  breath,  and  fight  you  till  I 

die! 
I  ne'er  will  ask  for  quarter,  and  I  ne'er  will  be  your  slave ; 
But  I  'II   swim  the  sea  of  slaughter   till  I  sink  beneath  the 

wave!  a.  w.  fatten. 


CLXXIL— LOVE  OP  COUNTRY. 

1.  Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  I" 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned. 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  minstrel-raptures  swell. 

2.  High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown ; 

And,  doubly  dying,  shall, go  down 

To  the  vile  dust  from  which  he  sprung, 

Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 

3    0  Caledonia!  stem  and  wild. 
Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  chil^, 


I'i  ELOCUTION. 

Liind  of  brown  heath  and  ehaggy  wood, 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, 

Land  of  my  eircs;  what  mortal  hand 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band, 

That  knits  me  to  thv  rugged  strand?  8C0TT. 


CLXXm.— VARIETIES. 
1. — MELANCHOLY. 

1.  0  man!  while  in  thy  early  v»nra 

How  prodigal  of  time ! 
Misspending  all  thy  precious  nours, 

Thy  glorious  youthful  prime! 
Alternate  follies  take  the  sway; 

Licentious  passions  burn ; 
Which  tenfold  force  give  nature's  law, 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

2.  Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime, 

Or  manhood's  active  might; 
Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind, 

Supported  is  his  right : 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  cares  and  sorrows  worn, 
Then  age  and  want,  oh !  ill-matched  pair  I 

Show  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

3.  A  few  seem  favorites  of  fate. 

In  pleasures  lap  caressed ; 
Yet  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 

Are  likewise  ti'uly  blest. 
But,  oh !  what  crowds  in  every  land 

Are  wretched  and  forlorn; 
Through  weary  life  this  lesson  leara 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

4    Many  and  sharp  the  nameless  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame ! 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves, 

Regret,  remorse,  and  shame! 
And  man,  whose  heaven-erected  face 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn. 


onAMATIC.   KTC.  347 

Man's  inhumanity  to  man 
Makes  countless  thousands  mourn. 

6.  See  yonder  poor,  o'er-laborcd  wight, 

So  abject,  mean  ."vod  vile. 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil ; 
And  see  his  lordly  fellow-worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn, 
Unmindful  though  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

6.  0  death  I  the  poor  man's  dearest  friend, 

The  kindest  and  the  best! 
Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  by  thee  to  rest! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow, 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  oh !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn  I  burns. 

2. — JEALOUSY. 

1  DO  mistrust  thee,  woman  !  and  each  word 
Of  thine  stamps  truth  on  all  suspicion  heard. 
tJome  in  his  arms  through  fire  from  yon  Serai — 
Say,  wert  thou  lingering  there  with  him  to  fly? 
Thou  need'st  not  answer,  thy  confession  speaks, 
Already  reddening  on  thy  guilty  cheeks! 
Then,  lovely  dame,  bethink  thee!  and  beware; 
'T  is  not  his  life  alone  may  claim  such  care; 
Another  word — and — nay — I  need  no  more. 
Accursed  was  the  moment  when  he  bore 
Thee  from  the  flames,  which  better  far — but — no— 
I  then  had  mourned  thee  with  a  lover's  woe — 
Now  't  is  thy  lord  that  warns,  deceitful  thing! 
Know'st  thou  that  I  can  clip  thy  wanton  wing? 
Id  words  alone  I  am  not  wont  to  chnfe: 
Look  to  thyself,  nor  deem  thy  falsehood  safe!       by  run 

3. — HOPE»      . 

It  shall  be  my  delight  to  tend  his  eyes, 
And  view  him  sitting  in  the  house,  ennobled 
With  all  those  high  exploits  by  him  achieved, 
And  on  his  shoulders  waving  down  those  loclu 


3JS  ELOCUTION. 

That,  of  a  nation  armed,  the  strength  contained; 

And,  I  persuade  me,  God  hath  not  permitted 

His  strength  again  to  grow  up  with  his  hair, 

Garrisoned  round  about  him  like  a  camp 

Of  faithful  soldiery,  were  not  his  purpose 

To  use  him  farther  yet  in  some  great  service; 

Not  to  sit  idle  with  so  great  a  gift 

Useless,  and  thence  ridiculous  about  him ; 

And,  since  his  strength  with  eye-sight  was  not  lost, 

God  will  restore  him  eye-sight  to  his  strength. 

UILTON. 
4. FEAR. 

On,  agony  of  fear  I 

Would  that  he  yet  might  livel  even  now  I  heard 

The  legate's  followers  whisper,  as  they  passed. 

They  had  a  warrant  for  his  instant  death, 

All  was  prepared  by  unforbidden  means. 

Which  we  must  pay  so  dearly,  having  done. 

Even  now  they  search  the  tower,  and  find  the  body. 

Now  they  suspect  the  truth ;  now  they  consult 

Before  they  come  to  tax  us  with  the  fact; 

0,  horrible  1  't  is  all  discovered!  shellet 

5. — THE    POWER   OF    LOVE. 

But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 

Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 

But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements. 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power; 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power. 

Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 

A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind; 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound. 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopped ; 

Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible, 

Than  arc  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails; 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste: 

For  valor,  is  not  lovp  a  Hercules, 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Ilesperides? 

Subtle  as  sphinx,  as  sweet  and  musical 

As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair ; 

And,  when  love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods, 

Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  349 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 

Until  iiis  ink  were  tempered  with  love's  sighs ; 

0,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility.  sdakspeare. 


CLXXIV.— FROM  LALLA  ROOKII. 

1    But  see — he  starts — what  heard  he  then  ? 
That  dreadful  shout ! — across  the  glen 
From  the  land-side  it  comes,  and  loud 
Rings  through  the  chasm  ;  as  if  the  crowd 
Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 
Its  Ghouls  and  Dives  and  shapes  of  hell, 
Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout! 
"They  come — the  Moslems  come!"  he  cries, 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes — 
*'  Now  spirits  of  the  brave,  who  roam 
Enfranchised  through  yon  starry  dome, 
Rejoice — for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
Are  on  the  wing  to  join  your  choir!" 

2.  lie  said — and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimbed  the  steep 
And  gained  the  shrine — his  chiefs  stood  round— 

Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap, 
Together,  at  that  cry  accurst. 
Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst. 
And  hark! — again — again  it  rings; 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 
Peal  through  the  chasms — Oh !  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men. 
With  their  swords  grasped,  their  eyes  of  flame 
Turned  on  their  chief — could  doubt  the  shame, 
The  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still? 

3.  Ilo  read  their  thoughts — they  were  his  own — 

•What!  while  our  arms  can  wield  these  blades, 
Shall  wo  die  tamely?  die  alone? 

Without  one  victim  to  our  shades. 
One  Moelom  heart,  where,  buried  deep, 
The  saber  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
No — God  of  Iran's  burning  skies  I 


850  ELOCUTION. 

Thou  scorn'st  the  inglorious  sncritice. 
N<) — though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft, 
Life,  swonls,  and  vengeance  still  are  left: 
We  'W  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 

Live  in  the  awestruck  minds  of  men. 
Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

Tell  of  the  Gueber's  bloody  glen  1 
Follow,  brave  hearts  I— this  pile  remains 
Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains; 
But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed. 
Who  sinks  entombed  in  Moslem  dead !"  mooiib. 


CL3CXV.— MOLOCH  AND  SATAN,  BEFORE  THE  POWERS  OF 

HELU 

1.  One  there  was  whose  loud  defying  tongue 
Nor  hope  nor  fear  had  silenced,  but  the  swell 
Of  overboiling  malice.     Utterance  long 

His  passion  mocked  and  long  he  strove  to  tell 
His  laboring  ire;  still  syllable  none  fell 
From  his  pale  quivering  lip,  but  died  away 
For  very  fury ;  from  each  hollow  cell 
Half  sprang  his  eyes,  that  cast  a  flamy  ray. 

2.  **  This  comes,"  at  length  burst  from  the  furious  chief, 
"  This  comes  of  dastard  counsels !     Here  behold 

The  fruits  of  wily  cunning !  the  relief 

Which  coward  policy  would  fain  unfold 

To  soothe  the  powers  that  warred  with  heaven  of  old- 

0  wise  I  0  potent !  0  sagacious  snare  ! 

And  lo  I  our  prince — the  mighty  and  th^  bold. 

There  stands  he,  spell-struck,  gaping  at  the  air 

While  heaven  subverts  his  reign  and  plants  her  standard  there." 

3.  Here  as  recovered,  Satan  fixed  his  eye 
Full  on  the  speaker — dark  as  it  was  stern — 
lie  wrapped  his  black  vest  round  him  gloomily 

And  stood  like  one  whom  weightiest  thoughts  concern. 

Him  Moloch  marked  and  strove  again  to  turn 

Ilis  soul  to  rage.     "  Behold,  behold,"  he  cried, 

"  The  lord  of  hell,  who  bade  these  legions  spurn 

Almighty  rule — behold  he  lays  aside 

The  spear  of  just  revenge,  and  shrinks,  by  man  defied." 


DRAMATIC,     ITC.  351 

4.  Thus  ended  Moloch,  and  his  burnin<;  tongue 
Ilung  quivering  as  if  mad  to  quench  its  heat 
In  slaughter.     So,  his  native  wilds  among, 
/The  famished  tiger  pants,  when  near  his  seat, 
Pressed  on  the  sands,  he  marks  the  traveler's  feet 
Instant  low  murmurs  rose,  and  many  a  sword 
Ilad  from  its  scabbard  sprung ;  but  toward  the  seat 
Of  the  arch-fiend,  all  turned  with  one  accffrd. 
As  loud  he  thus  harangued  the  sanguinary  horde: 

5.  "Ye  powers  of  hell,  I  am  no  coward.  I  proved  this 
of  old.  Who  led  your  forces  against  the  armies  of  Jeho- 
vah ?  Who  coped  with  Ithuriel,  and  the  thunders  of  the 
Almighty?  Who,  when  stunned  and  confused  ye  lay  on 
the  burning  lake,  who  first  awoke  and  collected  your  scat- 
tered powers?  Lastly,  who  led  you  across  the  unfathom- 
able aljyss  to  this  delightful  world,  and  established  that 
reign  here  which  now  totters  to  its  base?  How,  therefore, 
dares  yon  treacherous  fiend  to  cast  a  stain  on  Satan's 
bravery?  He,  who  preys  only  on  the  defenseless — who 
sucks  the  blood  of  infants,  and  delights  only  in  acts  of  igno- 
ble cruelty  and  unequal  contention !  Away  with  the  boaster 
who  never  joins  in  action ;  but,  like  a  cormorant,  hovers 
over  the  field,  to  feed  upon  the  wounded  and  overwhelm 
the  dying.  True  bravery  is  as  remote  from  rashness  as 
from  hesitation.  Let  us  counsel  coolly,  but  let  us  execute 
our  counseled  purposes  determinedly.  In  power,  we  have 
learned  by  that  experiment  which  lost  us  heaven,  that  we  are 
inferior  to  the  thunder-bearer:  in  subtlety — in  subtletv 
aloDC,  wo  are  his  equals."  white. 


CLXXVL—THE  FIREMAN. 

1.  Hoarse  wintry  blasts  a  solemn  requiem  sung 
To  the  departed  day, 
Upon  whose  bi«r 
The  velvet  pall  of  midnight  nuU  oeen  flunj^ 

And  nature  mourned  through  one  wide  hemispber* 
Silence  and  darkness  held  their  cheerless  sway. 

Save  in  the  htiunta  of  riotous  e.xcess, 
And  half  the  world  in  dreamy  slumbers  lay — 


i'i.1  ELOODTION 

Lost  in  the  maze  of  sweet  forgetfulness, 
When  lol  upon  the  startled  ear, 
Tl^re  broke  a  sound  so  dread  and  drear— 
A^,  like  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder, 
Burst  the  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 
AhJ  filled  a  thousand  throbbing  hearts  with  fear. 

2.     Harld   the  faithful  watchman^s  cry 
Speaks  a  conflagration  nigh! — 
Seel  yon  glare  upon  the  sky, 

Confirms  the  fearful  bile. 
The  deep-mouthed  bells,  with  rapid  tone. 
Combine  to  make  the  tidings  known; 
Affrighted  silence  now  has  flown, 
And  sounds  of  terror  freight  the  chiUy  galet 

f    At  the  first  note  of  this  discordant  din. 

The  gallant  fireman  from  his  slumber  st   res* 
Reckless  of  toil  and  danger,  if  he  win 
The  tributary  meed  of  grateful  hearts. 
From  pavement  rough,  or  frozen  ground, 
His  engine's  rattling  wheels  resound, 

And  soon  before  his  eyes 
The  lurid  flames,  with  horrid  glare. 
Mingled  with  murky  vapors  rise. 
In  wreathy  folds  upon  the  air. 
And  vail  the  frowning  skies! 

4.  Sudden  a  shriek  assails  his  heart — 

A  female  shriek,  so  piercing  wild. 
As  makes  his  very  life-blood  start — 

"  My  child !  Almighty  God,  my  child  I" 
He  hears. 
And  'gainst  the  tottering  wall, 

The  ponderous  ladder  rears ; 
While  blazing  fragments  round  him  fall, 

And  crackling  sounds  assail  his  ears. 

5.  Ilis  sinewy  arm,  with  one  rude  crash, 
llurls  to  the  earth  the  opposing  sash ; 

And  heedless  of  the  startling  din — 
Though  smoky  volumes  round  him  roU, 
The  mother's  shriek  has  pierced  his  soul. 

Sec !   see  !   he  plunges  in  ! 
The  admiring  crowd,  with  hopes  and  feara, 


DKAMATIC,  EOT.  3o3 

In  breathless  expectation  stands, 
When  lol   the  daring  youth  appears, 
Hailed  by  a  burst  of  warm,  ecstatic  cheers. 

Bearing  the  child  triumphant  in  his  hands  I 


CLXXVII.— THE  DYING  BRIGAND. 

1    Shk  stood  before  the  dying  man, 

And  her  eye  grew  wildly  bright — 
"  Ye  will  not  pause  for  a  woman's  ban. 

Nor  shrink  from  a  woman's  might ; 
And  his  glance  is  dim  that  made  you  fly, 

As  ye  before  have  fled: 
Look  dastards  ! — how  the  brave  can  die — 

Beware ! — he  is  not  dead  1 

*L  By  his  blood  you  have  tracked  him  to  his  lairl- 

Would  you  bid  the  spirit  part? — 
lie  that  durst  harm  one  single  hair 

Must  reach  it  through  my  heart. 
I  can  not  weep,  fo^  my  brain  is  dry — 

Nor  plead,  for  I  know  not  how ; 
But  my  aim  is  sure,  and  the  shaft  may  fly, — 

And  the  bubbling  life-blood  flow! 

3.  Yet  leave  me,  while  dim  life  remains, 

To  list  his  parting  sigh ; 
To  kiss  away  those  gory  stains, 

To  close  his  beamless  eye! 
Ye  will  not!   no — he  triumphs  still, 

Whose  foes  his  death-pangs  dread — 
His  was  the  power — yours  but  tho  will : 

Back — back— he  is  not  dead! 

4    His  was  the  power  that  held  in  thrall, 

Through  many  a  glorious  year, 
Priests,  burghers,  nobles,  princes,  all 

Slaves  worship,  hate,  or  fear. 
Wrongs,  insults,  injuries  thrust  him  forth 

A  bandit  chief  to  dwell ; 
How  he  avenged  his  slighted  worth. 

Ye,  cravens,  best  may  tell  I 

5.  His  spirit  lives  in  the  mountain  breath, 
It  flows  in  the  mountain  wave ; 
KiDD.— 30 


854  ELOCUTION. 

Rock — stream— hath  done  the  work  of  death 
Yon  deep  ravine— the  j];rave  ! — 

That  which  hath  been  again  may  be!— 
Ah  1  by  yon  fleeting  sun, 

Who  stirs,  no  morning  ray  shall  see — 
Uis  sand  of  life  has  run  1" 

6.  Defiance  shone  in  her  flashing  eye, 

But  her  heart  beat  wild  with  fear — 
She  starts — the  bandit's  last  faint  sigh 

Breathes  on  her  sharpened  ear — 
She  gazes  on  each  stiffening  limb, 

And  the  death-damp  chills  her  brow; — 
**  For  him  I  lived — I  die  with  him ! 

Slaves,  do  your  oflfice  now  I" 


CLXXVm.— SOLILOQUY  FROM  MANFRED. 

1.  The  spirits  I  have  raised  abandon  me— 
The  spells  which  I  have  studied  baffle  me — 
The  remedy  I  recked  of  tortured  me ; 

I  lean  no  more  on  superhuman  aid, 

It  hath  no  power  upon  the  past,  and  for 

The  future,  till  the  past  be  gulfed  in  darkness, 

It  is  not  of  my  search.     My  mother  earth  1 

And  thou,  fresh  breaking  day ;  and  you,  ye  mountains, 

Why  are  ye  beautiful  ?     I  can  not  love  ye. 

2.  And  thou,  the  bright  eye  of  the  universe. 
That  openest  over  all,  and  unto  all 

Art  a  delight — thou  shinest  not  on  my  heart: 
And  you,  ye  crags,  upon  whose  extreme  edge 
I  stand,  and  on  the  torrent's  brink  beneath 
Behold  the  tall  pines  dwindle  as  to  shrubs 
In  dizziness  of  distance ;  when  a  leap, 
A  stir,  a  motion,  even  a  breath,  would  bring 
My  breast  upon  its  rocky  bosom's  bed 
To  rest  forever — wherefore  do  I  pause? 

3.  I  feel  the  impulse — ^yet  I  do  not  plunge; 
I  see  the  peril — yet  do  not  recede; 

And  my  brain  reels — and  yet  my  foot  is  firm : 
There  is  a  power  upon  me  which  withholds 


355 


And  makes  it  my  fatality  to  live: 

If  it  bo  life  to  wear  within  myself 

This  barrenness  of  spirit,  and  to  be 

My  own  soul's  sepulcher,  for  I  have  ceased 

To  justify  my  deeds  unto  myself — 

The  last  infirmity  of  evil. 

4.  Ay,  thou  winged  and  cloud-cleaving  minister, 

[An  eagle  pcutea. 
Whose  happy  flight  is  highest  into  heaven, 
Well  mayest  thou  swoop  so  near  me — I  should  be 
Thy  prey,  and  gorge  thine  eaglets ;  thou  art  gone 
Where  the  eye  can  not  follow  thee ;  but  thine 
Yet  pierces  downward,  onward  or  above 
With  a  pervading  vision. 

5.  Beautiful! 

How  beautiful  is  all  this  visible  world ! 

Uow  glorious  in  its  action  and  itself  I 

But  wc,  who  name  ourselves  its  sovereigns,  wo, 

Ilalf-dust,  half-deity,  alike  unfit 

To  sink  or  soar,  with  our  mi.xed  essence  make 

A  conflict  of  its  elements,  and  breathe 

The  breath  of  degradation  and  of  pride, 

Contending  with  low  wants  and  lofty  will 

Till  our  mortality  predominates. 

And  men  are — what  they  name  not  to  themselves, 

And  trust  not  to  each  other. 

6.  Hark !  the  note, 

[  The  shepherd's  pipe  in  the  distance  is  heard. 
The  natural  music  of  the  mountain  reed— 
For  hero  the  patriarchal  days  are  not 
A  pastoral  fable — pipes  in  the  liberal  air. 
Mixed  with  the  sweet  bells  of  the  sauntering  herd ; 
My  soul  would  drink  those  echoes.     Oh,  that  I  were 
The  viewless  spirit  of  a  lovely  sound, 
A  living  voice,  a  breathing  harmony, 
A  bodiless  enjoyment— born  and  dying 
With  the  blest  tone  which  made  me  I  btkok 


CLXXIX— GINEVRA. 


I.  Shi  was  an  only  child,  her  name  Qinevn^ 
The  jr"^    M.n  vvrwi.*  ,.r  o..  indulgent  father; 


8o'l  ELOCUTION. 

And  in  her  fifteenth  year  became  a  bride, 

Marrying  an  only  eon,  Francisco  Doria, 

Her  playmate  from  her  birth,  and  her  first  love- 

2.  She  was  all  gentleness,  all  gayety, 

Her  pranks  the  ftiTorite  theme  of  every  tongue. 
But  now  the  day  was  come,  tlie  day,  the  hour, 
Now  frowning,  smiling  for  the  hundredth  time. 
The  nurse,  the  ancient  lady,  preached  decorum; 
And  in  the  luster  of  her  youth  she  gave 
Her  hand,  with  her  heart  in  it,  to  Francisco. 

3.  Great  was  the  joy ;  but  at  the  nuptial  feast, 
When  all  sat  down,  the  bride  herself  was  wanting. 
Nor  was  she  to  be  found  I     Her  father  cried, 

*"T  is  but  to  make  a  trial  of  our  love  I" 

And  filled  his  glass  to  all ;  but  his  hand  shook. 

And  soon  from  guest  to  guest  the  panic  spread. 

4.  'T  was  but  that  instant  she  had  left  Francisco^ 
Laughing,  and  looking  back,  and  flying  still, 

Her  ivory  tooth  imprinted  on  his  finger ; 
But,  now,  alas  she  was  not  to  be  found; 
Nor  from  that  hour  could  any  thing  be  guessed, 
But  that  she  was  not! 

5.  Weary  of  his  life, 

Francisco  flew  to  Venice,  and  embarking. 
Flung  it  away  in  battle  with  the  Turk. 
The  father  lived,  and  long  might  you  have  seen 
An  old  man  wandering  as  in  quest  of  something ; 
Something  he  could  not  find,  he  knew  not  what 
When  he  was  gone  the  house  remained  awhile 
Silent  and  tenantless — then  went  to  strangers. 

6.  Full  fifty  years  were  past,  and  all  forgotten, 
When  on  an  idle  day,  a  day  of  search, 

'Mid  the  old  lumber  in  the  gallery. 
That  moldering  chest  was  noticed,  and  't'was  said 
By  one  as  young,  as  thoughtless  as  Ginevra ; 
"  Why  not  remove  it  from  its  lurking  place  ?" 

7.  'T  was  done  as  soon  as  said,  but  on  the  way 
It  burst,  it  fell ;  and  lo  I  a  skeleton, 

With  here  and  there  a  pearl,  an  emerald  stone, 
A  golden  clasp,  clasping  a  shred  of  gold. 


DRAMATIC.  867 

All  else  had  perished — save  a  wedding-ring 
And  a  small  seal,  her  mother's  legacy,  » 

Engraven  with  a  name,  the  name  of  both,    *  Ginevra  '* 

8.  There,  then  she  had  found  a  grave ! 
Within  that  chest  had  she  concealed  herself, 
Fluttering  with  joy,  the  happiest  of  the  happy. 
When  a  spring-lock  that  lay  in  ambush  there, 
Fastened  her  down  forever!  Rogers 


CLXXX.— "  EXCELSIOR  I" 

1.  TflK  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast, 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 

A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
"  Excelsior  I" 

2.  His  brow  was  sad ;  his  eye,  beneath. 
Flashed  like  a  falchion  from  its  sheath: 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 

The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue, 
*'  Excelsior !" 

3.  In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 

Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  bright; 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone  ; 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan, 
"  Excelsior  1" 

4.  "Try  not  the  pass!"  the  old  man  said, 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead ; 
The  roaring  torrent 's  deep  and  wide  1" 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied, 

"  Excelsior  I" 

5.  "Oh!  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast!" — 

A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye ; 
But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigh, 
"  Excelsior  I" 

6.  "  Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch  1 


858  ELOCUTION. 

This  was  the  peauant's  last  good-night ; — 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  hight, 
"Excelsior!" 

7.  At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward  * 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Uttered  the  ofl-repeated  prayer, 

A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air, 
••  Excelsior  1" 

8.  A  traveler,  by  the  faithful  hound, 
Ilalf-buried  in  the  snow  was  found, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device, 

"  Excelsior !" 

9.  There,  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray. 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay ; 

And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star— 

"  Excelsior  1"  lonofellow. 


CLXXXI.— SOLILOQUY  OF  KING  RICHARD  HL 

1.  Give  me  another  horse — bind  up  my  wounds — 
Have  mercy,  Jesu — soft :  I  did  but  dream  ! 

0,  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me ! 

The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight. 

What  do  I  fear?     Myself?     There  's  none  else  by. 

Richard  loves  Richard ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  murderer  here  ?     No :  yes  ;  I  am. 

Then  fly.     What!     From  myself?     Great  reason,  why? 

Lest  I  revenge.     What?     Myself  on  myself? 

I  love  myself?     Wherefore?     For  any  good 

That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself? 

0,  no ;  alas !  I  rather  hate  myself, 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

2.  I  am  a  villain:  yet  I  lie;  I  am  not 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well — fool,  do  not  flatter— 
My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues ; 
And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale ; 
And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 
Perjury,  perjury,  in  the  highest  degree, 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  869 

MurJor,  Btern  murder,  in  the  direst  degree, 
Tlirong  to  the  bar,  crying  all,  Guilty  1  guilty  I 
1  shall  despair.     There  is  no  creature  loves  me. 
And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me  ; 
Nay ;  wherefore  should  they ;  since  that  I  myself 
Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself? — 
Methought  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murdered 
Came  to  my  tent,  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow  *8  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. 

SUAKSPEAEI 


CLXXXII.— MOONLIGHT  AND  MUSIC. 

1.  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bankl 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 

Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 

Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

Sit,  Jessica:  Look,  how  the  floor  of  heaven 

Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold ; 

There  's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  beholdest. 

But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings. 

Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim : 

But,  while  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 

Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  can  not  hear  it. — 

Come,  ho !  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn ; 

With  sweetest  touches  pierce  your  mistress'  ear, 

And  draw  her  home  with  music. 

2.  Do  thou  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts. 
Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud, 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood ; 

If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound, 

Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 

You  sliall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 

Their  savage  eyes  turned  to  a  modest  gaze,  • 

By  the  sweet  power  of  music.     Therefore,  the  poet 

Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  floods ; 

Since  nought  so  stockish  hard,  and  full  of  rage. 

But  musio  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself. 

Nor  is  not  mov"'  »r"»>  .>«>.« '».»r«l  of  sweet  soandfl. 


560  ELOCUTIOlf. 

Is  fit  for  treason,  stratagems,  and  spells; 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night. 

And  his  affections  durk  as  Erebus: 

I<et  no  such  i         '      .mstod.  sdakspeark 


CLXXxiii.— THE  I'"''  '^-r  '^"KKn:. 

1.  The  isles  of  rirecce!  mi- 

\\'lieic  1  w.ning  Sapph' 
Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  ;."jaee, — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung  1 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet; 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

2.  The  mountains  look  on  Marathon — 

And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea; 
And  musing  there  an  hour  ahme, 

I  dreamed  that  r.reece  might  still  be  free 
F""    "^•"'■ling  on  the  Persian's  grave, 
1  t  deem  myself  a  slave. 

3.  'Tis  something;,  in  tlie  Jeartli  of  fame, 

Though  linked  among  a  fettered  race. 
To  feel  at  least  a  patriot's  shame,' 

Even  as  I  sing,  suffuse  my  face ; 
For  what  is  left  the  poet  here? 
For  Greeks  a  blush — for  Greece  a  tear. 

4.  Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blessed T 

Must  we  but  blush? — Our  fathers  bled — 
Earth  !  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead  I 
Of  the  three  hundred  grant  but  three, 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylae. 

5.  Wliat !  silent  still  ?  and  silent  all  ? 

Ah  !  no  ; — the  voices  of  the  dead 
Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall. 

And  answer,  "  Let  one  living  head. 
But  one  arise, — we  come,  we  come  1" 
'Tis  but  the  living  who  are  dumb. 

6.  In  vain — in  vain  :  strike  other  chords ; 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine  I 


DRAMATIC,   ETC.  361 

Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordeo. 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio's  vine  I— . 
Hark  1  rising  to  the  ignoble  call, 
IIow  answers  each  bold  bacchanal  I 

7.  The  tyrant  of  the  Chersonese 

Was  freedom's  best  and  bravest  friend: 
That  tyrant  was  Miltiades  I 

0  that  the  present  hour  would  lend 
Another  despot  of  the  kind ! 
Such  chains  as  his  were  sure  to  bind. 

8.  Trust  not  for  freedom  to  the  Franks — 

They  have  a  king  who  buys  and  sells. 
In  native  swords  and  native  ranks 

The  only  hope  of  courage  dwells ; 
But  Turkish  force  and  Latin  fraud 
Would  break  your  shield,  however  broad. 

9.  Place  me  on  Sunium's  marble  steep. 

Where  nothing,  save  the  waves  and  I, 
May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep ; 

There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die : 
A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  bo  mine — 
Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine !  btkoh 


CLXXXI  v.— VARIETIES. 

1. — DISAPPOINTED    AMBITION. 

What  is  't  to  me,  if  all  have  stooped  in  turn  7 
Does  fellowship  in  chains  make  bondage  proud? 
Does  the  plague  lose  its  venorn  if  it  taint 
My  brother  with  myself?     Is  't  victory. 
If  I  but  find  stretched  by  my  bleeding  side 
All  who  come  with  me  in  the  golden  morn. 
And  shouted  as  my  banner  met  the  sun? 
I  can  not  think  on  't     There  's  no  faith  in  earth  I 
The  very  men  with  whom  I  walked  through  life. 
Nay,  till  within  this  hour,  in  all  the  bonds 
Of  courtesy  and  high  companionship, 
They  all  deserted  me  ;  Metellus,  Scipio, 
.^^milius,  Catn.  cvt^n  my  kinsman,  Caesar. 
KlDD— 31 


iVtt  ELOCUTION. 

AU  the  chief  names  and  senators  of  Rome, 
This  day,  o^  >f  the  heavens  had  stamped  me  black, 
IVrned  en  their  heel,  just  at  the  point  of  fate; 
Left  me  a  mockery,  in  the  rabble's  midst. 
And  followed  their  plebeian  consul,  Cicero  I 
This  waa  the  day  to  which  I  looked  through  life  ; 
And  it  has  failed  me — vanished  from  my  grasp, 
Like  air.  crolt 

2. — DESPAIR. 

I  TILL  you,  hopeless  grief  is  passionless  ; 
That  only  men  incredulous  of  despair. 
Half-taught  in  anguish,  through  the  midnight  air 
Beat  upward  to  God's  throne  in  loud  access 
Of  shrieking  and  reproach.     Full  desertness 
In  hearts,  as  countries,  lieth  silent,  bare 
Under  the  blanching,  vertical  eye-glare 
Of  the  free  chartered  heavens.     Be  still  I  express 
•     Grief  for  thy  dead  in  silence  like  to  death  1 
Most  like  a  monumental  statue  sat 
In  everlasting  watch  and  moveless  woe, 
Till  itself  crumble  to  the  dust  beneath. 
Touch  it,  spectator!     Are  its  eyelids  wet? 
If  it  could  weep,  it  could  arise  and  go  I 

E.    BARRETT   B'»C>WhM:k 
3. — LOVE. 

1.  Strange!  that  one  lightly-whispered  ton« 

Is  {iiT,  far  sweeter  unto  me, 
Than  all  the  sounds  tliat  kiss  the  earth 

Or  breathe  along  the  sea ; 
But,  lady,  when  thy  voice  I  greet, 
Not  heavenly  music  seems  so  sweet 

2.  I  look  upon  the  fair,  blue  skies. 

And  naught  but  empty  air  I  see , 
But  when  I  turn  me  to  thine  eyes, 

It  seemeth  unto  me 
Ten  thousand  angels  spread  their  wings 
Within  those  little  azure  rings. 

3.  The  lily  hath  the  softest  leaf 

That  ever  western  breeze  hath  fanned, 
But  thou  shalt  have  the  tender  flower. 
Say  I  may  take  thy  hand ; 


DRAMATIC  n»8 

That  little  hand  to  me  doth  yield 
More  joy  than  all  the  broidered  field. 

4.  0,  Indyl  there  be  many  things 

That  seem  right  fair,  below,  above ; 
But  sure  not  one  among  them  all 

Is  half  so  sweet  as  love ; 
Let  us  not  pay  our  vows  alone. 
But  join  two  altars  both  in  one.  o.  w.  noLMKf 


CLXXXV.— LOCHIEL'S  WARNING. 

Wizard.     Lochiel !  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  fight : 
They  rally ! — they  bleed  ! — for  their  kingdom  and  crown  ; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down  ! 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far? 
'T  is  thine,  0  Glenullin !  whose  bride  shall  await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-fire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning:  no  rider  is  there; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep  Albin!  to  death  and  captivity  led! 
Oh,  weep!  but  thy  tears  can  not  number  the  dead: 
For  a  merciless  sword  o'er  Culloden  shall  wave, 
Culloden  1  that  recks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

Lochiel.    Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  s-otr 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  bo  dreadful  appear, 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight, 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright 

Wizard.     Ila !  laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn! 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  tsirn  I 
•Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth. 
From  his  home  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  North/ 
L<) !  the  death-shot  of  foemen  outspeeding,  he  rode 
Coinpanionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad  ; 
Hut  down  let  him  8t<K)p  from  his  havoc  on  high  I 
Ah  I  home  let  him  upeed — for  the  Bpoiler  id  nigh. 


864  ELOCUTION. 

Why  flames  the  for  Aumniit?    Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  tlie  firmament  cast  ? 
'T  is  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyry,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 
Oh,  crested  Lochiell  the  peerless  in  mig^it. 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  hight, 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  bun>; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling,  all  lonely !— return  I 
Fjf  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood. 

Lochiel.     False  Wizard,  avaunt ;  I  have  marshaled  my  clan ' 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock  1 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock! 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanranald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud, 
All  plaidod  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array — 

Wizard.     Lochiell  Lochiel!  beware  of  the  day! 
For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal. 
But  man  can  not  cover  what  God  would  reveal: 
'T  is  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore, 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 
I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 
With  the  blood-hounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king. 
Lo !  anointed  by  heaven  with  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path ! 
Now,  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my  sight: 
Rise !  rise !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 
'T  is  finished.     Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moors ; 
Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores: 
But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner?  where? 
For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 
Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banished,  forlorn. 
Like  a  limb  from  his  country,  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 
Ah,  no !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near  ; 
The  war-drum  is  muffled  ;  and  black  is  the  bier ; 
Ilis  death-bell  is  tolling ;  oh  !  mercy,  dispel 
Yon  sight  that  it  freezes  ray  spirit  to  tell ! 
Life  flutters,  convulsed,  in  his  quivering  limbs, 
And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 


DRAMATIC,     ETC.  ^05 

Accursed  bu  the  faggots  that  blazo  at  his  feet, 

Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown,  ere  it  ceases  to  beat. 

With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale — 

Lochiel.     Down,  soothless  insulter  I  I  trust  not  tho  tale, 
For  never  shall  Albin  a  destiny  meet. 
So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat. 
Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strewed  in  their  gore. 
Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low, 
With  his  back  to  the  field  and  his  feet  to  the  foe, 
And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame. 

CAMPBELi 


CLXXXVL— SONG  OP  THE  WAR. 

1,  ly  their  ragged  regimentals, 
Stood  the  old  continentals, 

Yielding  not. 
When  the  grenadiers  were  lunging, 
And  like  hail  fell  the  plunging 
Cannon  shot; 
When  tho  files 
Of  the  isles 
From  the  smoky  night  encampment, 
Bore  the  banner  of  tho  rampant 

Unicom, 
And  grummer,  grummer,  grummer. 
Rolled  the  roll  of  the  drummer. 
Through  the  morn ! 

2    Then  with  eyes  to  the  front  all. 
And  with  guns  horizontal. 

.Stood  our  sires; 
And  the  balls  whistled  deadly. 
And  in  streams  flashing  redly 
Blazed  tho  fires ; 
As  the  roar 
On  the  shore 
Swept  the  strong  battle  breakers 
O'er  the  green-sodded  acres 
Of  the  plain, 


560  ELOCUTION. 

And  loudef,  loader,  louder. 
Cracked  the  blaok  gunpowder. 
Cracked  amain  I 

3.  Now  like  smiths  at  their  forge* 
Worked  the  red  St  George's 

Cannoniers, 
And  the  "villainous  saltpeter" 
Rang  a  fierce  discordant  meter 

Round  their  ears: 
As  the  swift 
Storm-drift, 
With  hot  sweeping;  anger. 
Came  the  horseguards'  clangor 

On  our  flanks ; 
Then  higher,  higher,  higher. 
Burned  the  old-fashioned  fire 

Through  the  ranks! 

4,  ThtoU  the  old-fashioned  colonel 
Galloped  through  the  white  infernal 

Powder  cloud ; 
And  his  broad  sword  was  swinging, 
»  And  his  brazen  throat  was  ringing. 

Trumpet  loud : 
Then  the  blue 
Bullets  flew. 
And  the  trooper  jackets  redden 
At  the  touch  of  the  leaden 

Rifle  ])reath, 
And  rounder,  rounder,  rounder, 
Roared  the  iron  six-pounder 
Hurling  death  I 


CLX XX VII.— CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE. 

1.  Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Charge I"  was  the  captain's  cry; 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 


DRAMATIC,    ETC.  367 

Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  or  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  death,  rode  the  six  hundred 

2.  Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered ; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell. 
Into  the  jaws  of  death,  rode  the;  six  hundred. 

3.  Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
They  that  had  struck  so  well 

Rode  through  the  jaws  of  death 

Half  a  league  back  again, 
Up  from  the  mouth  of  hell 
All  that  was  left  of  them,  left  of  six  hundred. 

4.  Honor  the  brave  and  bold ! 
Long  shall  the  tale  be  told. 
Yes,  when  our  babes  are  old — 

How  they  rode  onward.  TiNNrsoB 


CLXXVni.— LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER. 

1.  A  CHIEFTAIN  to  the  Highlands  bound. 
Cries,  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry ! 
And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound. 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." 

2   "  Now,  who  be  ye  would  cross  Luch-Gvle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water?' 
'•Oh  I  I  'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isl  , 
And  this— Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

3.  "And  fast  before  her  father's  men, 

Three  days  wo  *ve  fled  together. 
For  nhould  ho  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

4.  "  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride: 

Should  they  our  steps  discover. 


868  ELOCUTION. 

Then  who  will  cheer  my  lx)nny  bride, 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover?" 

5.  Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 

"  I  '11  go,  my  chief — I  'm  ready : 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
But  for  your  winsome  lady : 

6.  "And,  by  my  word!  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger,  shall  not  tarry ; 
So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I  'U  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

7.  By  this,  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 

The  water-wraith  was  shrieking ; 
And,  in  the  scowl  of  heaven,  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

8.  But  still,  as  wilder  grew  the  wind, 

And  as  the  ni^ght  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men. 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

9.  "0  haste  thee,  haste!"  the  lady  criea, 

"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather, 
I  '11  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 

10.  The  boat  has  left  the  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her — 
When,  oh  I  too  strong  for  human  hand. 
The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. 

11.  And  while  they  rowed,  amid  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing, 
Lord  Ullin  reached  that  fatal  shore, 
Ilis  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

12.  For,  sore  dismayed,  through  storm  and  shade, 

His  child  he  did  discover ; 
One  lovely  arm  she  stretched  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

13.  "  Come  back !  come  back !"  he  cried  in  grief, 

"Across  this  stormy  water: 
And  I  '11  forgive  your  Highland  chief: 
My  daughter !  oh,  my  daughter !" 

14.  'T  was  vain:  the  loud  waves  lashed  the  shore. 

Return,  or  aid  preventing: 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 
And  he  was  left  lamenting.  campbill. 


AMUSING.  869 


AMUSING 


CLX XXIX.— THE  WIDOW  BEDOTT  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES. 

1.  Sence  the  first  time  I  hecrd  you  preach,  I  've  had  an 
ondiscribable  desire  to  have  some  privit  conversashun  with 
you  in  regard  to  the  state  of  my  mind — your  discourse 
was  so  wonderful  sarchin,  that  I  felt  to  mourn  over  my 
backslidden  state  of  stewpidity,  and  my  consarn  increased 
every  lime  I  've  sot  under  the  droppins  of  your  sanctuery. 
Last  night,  when  I  hcerd  of  your  sickness  I  felt  wonder- 
ful overcom  ;  onable  to  conseal  my  aggitation,  I  retired  to 
my  chamber,  and  bust  into  a  flud  of  tears.  I  felt  for  you, 
elder  Sniffles — I  felt  for  you.  I  was  wonderful  exercised 
in  view  of  your  lone  condition. 

2.  O,  it  's  a  terrible  thing  to  be  alone  in  the  world!  I 
know  all  about  it  by  experience,  for  I  've  been  pardnerless 
for  nigh  twelve  year;  its  a  trying  thing,  but  I  thought 
't  was  better  to  be  alone  than  to  run  enny  resk — for  yer 
know  it  's  runnin'  a  great  resk  to  take  a  second  companion, 
espeshelly  if  they  aint  decidedly  pious — and  them  that  's 
tried  to  perswade  me  to  change  my  condition,  dident  none 
of  'em  give  very  satisfactory  evidence  of  piety — 'taint  for 
me  to  say  how  menny  I  've  refused  on  account  of  their 
want  of  religion.  Accordin'  to  my  notions,  riches  and 
grander  aint  to  be  compared  to  religion,  no  how  you  can  fix 
it,  and  I  always  told  'em  so. 

3.  But  I  was  tollin'  how  overcome  I  was  when  I  heerd 
of  your  being  attacked  with  influenzy.  I  felt  as  if  I  must 
go  right  over  and  take  care  of  you.  I  wouldcnt  desire  no 
better  intertainmcnt  than  to  umss  you  up,  and  if  'twant  for 
the  speech  of  pecple,  Ide  fly  to  your  relefe  instanter;  but 
I  know  't  would  make  talk,  and  so  I  'm  necessitated  to  stay 
away. 

4.  But  I  felt  80  consarned  about  you  that  I  could  n't  help 
writin'  these  few  lines  to  you  to  let  you  know  how  anxious 
T  be  on  your  account,  and   to  beg  of  you  to  take  care  of 


370  ELOCUTION. 

yourself.  O  elder,  do  be  careful — the  influenzy  's  a  danger- 
ous eppidemik,  if  you  let  it  run  on  without  attendin'  to  it 
in  season — do  be  careful — consider  what  a  terrible  thing 
't  would  be  for  you  to  be  took  away  in  the  height  of  yer 
yusefulnis;  and  0,  elder,  no  body  wouldent  feel  yer  loss 
with  more  intensitude  than  what  I  should,  though  mebby 
f  hadent  oughter  say  so. 

5.  0,  elder  Sniffles,  I  do  feel  as  if  I  couldent  part  will 
you  no  bow.  I  'm  so  interested  in  your  preachin',  and  it  '§ 
had  such  a  wonderful  attendancy  to  subdew  my  prcjudishes 
agin'  your  dcnominashun,  and  has  sot  me  considerin'  whether 
or  no  there  aint  good  christuns  in  all  denominashuns,  'cept, 
of  course,  the  unevarsallers. 

6.  O,  reverend  elder,  I  intreat  you  to  take  care  of  your 
preshus  health.  I  send  you  herewith  a  paper  of  boneset, 
you  must  make  some  good  stiff  tea  on  *t  and  drink  about  a 
quart  to-night  afore  you  retire.  Molasses  or  vinegar  's 
a  good  thing,  too,  for  a  cold  or  coff ;  jest  take  about  a  pint 
of  molasses  and  bile  it  down  with  a  teacup  of  vinegar  and 
a  hunk  of  butter  as  big  as  a  hen's  egg,  and  stir  in  about 
a  half  a  teacup  full  of  peppersass,  and  eat  it  down  hot  jest 
afore  bedtime — and  take  a  strip  of  flannil,  and  rub  some 
hog's  lard  on  't,  though  goose  ile  's  about  as  good,  and  pin 
it  round  yer  throte  rite  off;  and  I  send  likewise  a  bag  of 
hops — you  must  dip  it  in  bilin'  vinegar  and  lap  it  on  yer 
chist  when  you  go  to  bed,  and  keep  a  dippin'  on  't  as  fast 
as  it  begins  to  git  cool ;  and  jest  afore  you  git  into  bed, 
soke  yer  feet  in  bilin'  hot  water  with  some  red  peppers  in 
it ;  now  do  n't  forgit  nothing  1  've  proscribed. 

7.  But  I  was  a  tellin'  how  exercised  I  was  when  I  heerd 
of  your  sickness.  I  went  immejitly  to  my  chamber,  and 
gin  away  to  a  voiellent  flud  of  tears.  I  retired  to  my 
couche  of  repose,  but  my  aggetashun  prevented  my  sleepin'* 
I  felt  quite  a  call  to  express  my  feelins  in  poitry — I  'ja  very 
apt  to  when  ennything  comes  over  me — so  I  riz  and  lited 
my  candle,  and  composed  these  stanzys,  which  I  hope  wiU 
be  aggreible  to  you. 

8.  0  reverend  sir,  I  do  declare, 

It  drives  me  a'most  to  frenzy, 


AMUSING.  371 

To  think  of  you  a  lyin'  there 
Down  sick  with  influenzy. 

9    A  body  'd  a  thought  it  was  enough 
To  mourn  yer  wife's  departer, 
"Without  such  trouble  as  this  'ere 
To  come  a  follerin'  arter. 

10.  But  sickness  and  aiQiction  are  trials  sent 

By  the  will  of  a  wise  creation, 
And  always  ought  to  be  underwent 
With  fortytude  and  resignashun. 

11.  Then  mourn  not  for  your  pardner's  deth, 

But  to  submit  endevver; 
For  sposen  she  hadent  a  died  so  soon, 
She  could  n't  a  lived  forever. 

\'2.  0,  I  could  to  your  bedside  fly, 
And  wipe  your  wepin'  eyes, 
And  try  my  best  to  cure  you  up, 
If  't  wouldent  create  surprize. 

;i  world  of  trouble  we  tarry  in — 
Dut  elder  do  n't  dispair; 
That  you  may  soon  be  movin'  agin, 
Is  constantly  my  prayer. 

14.  Both  sick  and  well,  you  may  depend 
Youle  never  be  forgot. 
By  your  faithful  and  affectionate  friend, 

PRISCILLA    POOL   BSDOTT. 


CXC— THE  LAVIN'— A  POE-M. 

1.  Lords  and  Ladies  of  creation,  to  a  metrical  oration, — 
Funny  epical  narration, — your  attention  I  implore  ; 

Not  a  blood-and-thundor  story,  with  a  hero  grim  and  gory, 
And  a  highfcrluten  glory,  heavy,  dull, — in  short,  a  bore ; 
But  an  "ower-true  tale"  of  "hair  breadth  'scapes,"  and  danger* 
haply  o'er : 

Past,  I  trust,  for  evermore. 

2.  As  I  sat  one  morning  lonely  in  my  school-room,  thinking  only 
Of  the  mighty  glorious  oyster-soup,  I  'd  had  the  night  before. 
Suddenly  I  heard  a  clatter,  as  of  some  one  beating  batter, 


WJ  BLOCUTION. 

And  my  thoughta  began  to  scatter,  as  I  r^artec  for  the  door, 
As  I  hastened,  half  in  anger,  muttering,  to  my  school-room  door, 
Muttering  this,  and  something  more. 

3.  *•  That  'b  some  mother,  now ;  I  wonder  if  she  *s  come  t^  give 

me  thunder, 
For  the  flogging  that  I  gave  her  hopeful  i  ...   :..„  .,  .^.  .....    ; 

If  it  is,  I  '11  speak  her  civil,  though  she  rates  me  like  the  devil,- 
I  've  endured  as  grand  an  evil,  and,  perchance,  as  great  a  bore," — 
In  my  days  of  pedagoguing  I  've  endured  full  many  a  bore. 
And  expect  to  many  more. 

4.  As  my  bodings  thus  concentered,  open  flew  the  door,  and 

entered 
A  two-fisted  Amazonian,  in  her  soc^s  some  six  feet  four ; 
And  the  door-posts  seemed  to  squeeze  her,  as  vrith  mien  of  king 

or  kesar, 
Crossed  my  Rubicon  this  Caesar,  and  came  striding  up  the  floor. 
With  her  green  eyes  glaring  at  me  as  she  strode  the  creaking 

floor: — 

Sight  forgotten  nevermore! 

5.  At  her  gate  my  heart  beat  quicker,  for  I  s^aw  she  was  in 

liquor. 
By  her  wild  gesticulations  and  tlie  Billingsgate  .-w:  .-»i>re: 
Thought  I,  "vixen," — quite  uncourtly — "  though  you  are  enormous 

portly, 
If  you  do  not  very  shortly  take  yourself  from  out  the  door, 
Take  your  fat  and  burly  carcass  past  the  threshold  of  yon  door. 
You  will  rue  it  evermore." 

6.  Then  I  told  her  in  a  flurry,  she  must  be  ofi"  in  a  hurry, 
And  I  pointed,  as  I  told  her,  to  the  open  standing  door ; 
Sternly  then   I  frowned  upon  her,  shook  my  fist  like  practiced 

foiner, 
When,  upon  my  word  of  honor,  down  she  sat  upon  the  floor; 
»Vith   her  arms  braced  out  beside  her,  sat  she  down  upon  the 

floor ! — 

Rose  there  then  a  wild  uproar. 

7.  Every  pupil,  in  a  titter,  stretched  his  neck  to  see  the  critter. 
See  a  sight  to  them  uncommon — woman  sitting  on  the  floor. 
Woman   sitting  still  and  swearing,  while  her  eyes  were  wildly 

glaring, 


AMUSING.  378 

And  in  stentor  U)no8  declaring,  if  I  got  her  out  of  door, 
I  should  have  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  lug  her  out  of  door; 
This  she  told  rao  evermore. 

8.  First  I  hushed  the  wild  confusion,  caused  by  this  unique  in 
trusion, 
And  a  single  word  sufficing  perfect  quiet  to  restore ; 
For  a  moment  I  reflected:  "She  's  a  woman,  loved,  respected. 
By  some  heart  with  her's  connected,  that  may  grieve  in  sorrow  sore, 
For  this  lorn  and  fallen  being,  whom  my  vengeance  hovers  o'er ; 
Loved,  though  Allien,  evermore. 

u  1  rudely  treat  a  woman?    It  will  be  an  act  inhuman: 
Olio  which  I,  through  all  the  future,  shall  with  deep  remorse  de 

plorc ; 
O'er  the  outrage  will  grow  witty  News  Reporters  of  the  city" — 
Here  she  swore  again,  and  pity  fled  my  heart,  grown  soft  before: 
Mauger  sex  and  gallant  promptings,  thought  I,  she  shall  out  of 
door. 

And  return  thence  nevermore. 

10.  Then  I  thought,  "My  arch  virago,  with  your  craft,  a  la 
lago. 

I  will  try  a  simple  stratagem,  I  ne'er  have  tried  before  ; 
And  if  I  'm  not  mistaken,  you  will  have  your  courage  shaken, 
And  will  take  away  your  bacon,  from  that  place  upon  the  floor ; 
From  your  comic  situation,  sprawling  on  my  school-room  floor. 
And  you  '11  sit  there  nevermore." 

11.  There  's  a  maxim  worth  possession,  and  't  is  this:  a  sound 
discretion 

Is  the  better  part  of  valor,  when  there  'a  danger  hovering  o'er ; 
So  I  seized  a  pail  of  water,  and  resolved  I  'd  duck  this  daughter, 
And  I  did  n't  do  nothing  shorter,  as  she  sat  upon  the  floor ; 
For  I  dashed  the  liquid  round  her  in  a  deluge  on  the  floor, — 
And,  my  conscience,  how  she  swore  1 

12.  For  a  moment,  gasping,  choking,  while  the  moisture  in  -wm 
soaking. 

Sat  she  still  in  wild  amazement,  fixed  like  statue  to  the  floor : 
But  right  short  her  hesitation,  for  I  smiled  in  exultation, 
When,  loithouten  explanation,  broke  she  fur  the  open  door; 

king  once  behind  her,  quickly  bounced  she  out  of  door; 
And  I  saw  her  nevermore. 

u.    J.    uriLBUN. 


374  ELOCUTION. 


—DR.  BASHAW'S  ORATION. 

1.  Fellow  Citizens  : — It  is  but  natural  for  me  to  feci 
my  own  self  importance,  and  self  insufficiency  on  this 
momentous  and  direful  occasion ;  but  as  I  seldom  have 
rcxjourse  to  the  high  absurdity  of  apologizing,  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  proceed,  notwithstanding  I  do  not  feel  myself 
ibso  itely  tantamount  to  the  task  you  have  imposed  upon 
mc. 

2.  We  have  met,  fellow  citizens,  on  this  delightful  and 
desecrated  spot,  for  the  sublime  purpose  of  contaminating 
our  nation's  ever  glorious  anniversary.  Fellow  citizens!  I 
feel  my  want  of  that  hypercritical  learning  so  necessary  to 
the  complete  disembodiment  of  my  exaggerated  imagination. 

3.  Let  us  now,  with  the  deepest-toned  energies  of  the 
heart,  take  a  transient  survey  of  the  many  contaminating 
causes  which  led  to  the  masculine  independence ;  yea,  a 
declaration  that  caused  a  diabolical  amputation  of  one  of 
the  most  transcendent  members  of  the  British  Empire. 

4.  Let  us,  then,  in  a  prolixly  brief  way^  glance  at,  or 
rather  anticipate,  some  of  the  ostensible  causes  which  gave 
rise  to  that  mighty  and  obstreperous  revolution — a  revolu- 
tion which  raised  up  from  the  nethermost  depths  of  con- 
temptibility  the  most  dignified  generals  the  world  has  ever 
saw — generals  whose  characters  are  particularly  and  unin- 
tentionally stamped  upon  the  ever  invulnerable  lists  of  fame, 
where  they  must  ever  stand,  highly  ridiculous  and  vener- 
able, far  above  the  reach  of  the  the  most  copiou*  mind  that 
ever  exaggerated  in  the  ethereal  blue. 


CXCn.— THE  APPLE-DUMPLLNG6  AM)  GEORGE  THE  TU[hO 

1.  Once  in  the  chase,  this  monarch  drooping, 
From  his  high  consequence  and  wisdom  stooping, 

Entered,  through  curiosity,  a  cot, 

Where  an  old  crone  was  hanging  on  the  pot: 
The  wrinkled,  blear-eyed,  good  old  granny. 
In  this  same  cot,  illumed  by  many  a  cranny, 

Had  apple-dumplings  ready  for  the  pot; 


AMUSING.  375 

In  tempting  row  the  naked  dumplings  lay, 
When  lol   the  monarch,  in  his  usual  way. 

Like  lightning  asked,  "What's  here?  what's  here? 
wliat?  what?   what?   what?" 

2.  Then  taking  up  a  dumpling  in  his  hand, 
His  eyes  with  admiration  did  expand — 

And  ofl  did  majesty  the  dumpling  grapple ; 
"  'Tis  monstrous,  monstrous,  monstrous  hard,"  he  cried , 
*•  What  makes  the  thing  so  hard  ?"     The  dame  replied, 

Low  courtesying,  "  Please  your  majesty,  the  apple/' 
"  Very  astonishing  indeed  I  strange  thing  !" 
(Turning  the  dumpling  round)  rejoined  the  king, 
"  'Tis  most  extraordinary  now,  all  this  is — 
It  beats  the  conjurer's  capers  all  to  pieces — 
Strange  I  should  never  of  a  dumpling  dream — 
But  Goody,  tell  me,  where,  where,  where  's  the  seam  ?" 
"  Sire,  there  's  no  seam,"  quoth  she,  "I  ne?er  knew 
That  folks  did  apple-dumplings  sew !" — 
"  No !"  cried  the  staring  monarch  with  a  grin, 
"Then,  where,  where,  where  pray,  got  the  apple  in?" 

W0I.C  ..  f 


CXCm.— THE  DIRECTINQ  POST. 

1.  In  winter,  once,  an  honest  traveling  wight 
Pursued  his  road  to  Derby,  late  at  night ; 
'Twas  very  cold,  the  wind  was  bleak  and  high, 
And  not  a  house  nor  living  thing  was  nigh  ; 

At  length  he  came  to  where  souie  four  roads  met, 

(It  rained  too,  and  he  was  completely  wet,) 

And  being  doubtful  which  way  he  should  take 

lie  drew  up  to  the  finger-post  to  make 

It  out — and  after  much  of  poring,  fumbling, 

Some  angry  oaths,  and  a  great  deal  of  grumbling, 

'Twas  thus  the  words  he  traced — "  To  Derby — five," 

"  A  goodly  distance  yet,  as  I  'm  alive !" 

2.  But  on  he  drove  a  weary  length  of  way, 
And  wished  his  journey  he  'd  delayed  till  day : 
lie  wondered  that  no  town  appeared  in  view, 
(The  wind  blew  stronger,  it  rained  faster,  too,) 
When  to  his  great  relief  he  met  a  man : 

"I  say,  good  rr'""'i    •— "^  ♦oH  ..."    ;r  ,,>,,  ,»,,., 


376  ELOCUTION. 

IIuu'  far  is 't  hence  to  Derby?"     "Derby,  hey! 
Why  zur,  tliee  be'est  completely  come  astray  ; 
Thi>*  y'ant  the  road."     "Why,  zounds!  the  guide-post  fthowcd 
■/,  five* — and  pointed  down  this  road!" 
sir,  that  may  be,  for  you  maun  know, 
The  post  it  war  blown  down  last  night,  and  so 
Tliis  mom  I  put  it  iii»  aL'.iln.  Lut  \vli<"ther 
(As  I  can't  put  gr« 

The  post  is  right,  1  Hi  /.mu  i  c.iii  ii^-i.  /..i>  — 
The  town  is  just  five  miles  the  other  way." 


:()I>Y,— THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET. 

of  my  childhood, 

>>  Men  loivi  recoiKH'iion   prescius  uiem  to  view  I 
The  cheese-press,  the  goose-pond,  the  pigs  in  the  wild-wood. 

And  every  old  stump  that  my  infancy  knew. 
The  big  linkum-basswood,  with  wide-spreading  - 

The  horses  that  grazed  where  my  grandmother  fell; 
The  sheep  on  the  mountain,  the  calves  in  the  meadow, 

And  all  the  young  kittens  we  drowned  in  the  well — 
The  meek  little  kittens,  the  milk-loving  kittens. 
The  poor  little  kittens,  we  drowned  in  the  well. 

iiember  with  pleasure  my  grandfather's  goggles, 

\V  liich  rode  so  majestic  astraddle  his  nose ; 
And  the  harness,  oft  mended  with  tow-string  and  "toggles," 

That  belonged  to  old  Dolly,  now  free  from  her  woes. 
And  fresh  in  my  heart  is  the  long  maple  wood-pile, 

'       worked  with  beetle  and  wedge, 
1^         _^  up  enough  to  last  for  a  good  while, 

And  grumbling  because  my  old  ax  had  no  edge. 
And  there  was  the  kitchen,  and  p""^'^  '''it  stood  nigh  it, 

Where  we  sucked  up  the  drink  a  quill  in  the  spout 

And  the  hooks  where  we  hung  up  me  pumpkin  to  dry  it; 

And  the  old  cider  pitcher,  *'  no  doing  without ;" 
The  brown-earthen  pitcher,  the  nozzle-cracked  pitcher, 
The  pain-easing  pitcher,  '*  no  doing  without." 

.  And  there  was  the  school-hon-e.  avray  from  each  dwelling, 

Where  school-ma'ams  would  govern  with  absolute  sway ; 
Who  taught  me  my  "Arithmetic,"  reading,  and  spelling. 
And  "whaled  me  like  blazes"  about  every  day! 


AMUSING.  377 

I  remember  the  ladder  that  swung  in  the  passage, 

Which  led  to  the  loft  ia  the  peak  of  the  house ; 
Where  my  grandmother  hung  up  her  "  pumpkin  and  sausage," 

To  keep  them  away  from  the  rat  and  the  mouse. 
But  now,  far  removed  from  that  nook  of  creation, 

Emotions  of  grief  big  as  tea-kettles  swell. 
When  Fancy  rides  back  to  my  old  habitation. 

And  thinks  of  the  kittens  we  drowned  in  the  well — 
The  meek  little  kittens,  the  rnilk-loving  kittens, 
The  poor  little  kittens,  we  drowned  in  the  well. 


CXCV.— LYCEUM  SPEECH  OF  MR.  ORATOR  CLIMAX. 

1.  Mr.  President, — Happiness  is  like  a  crow  perched 
upon  the  neighboring  top  of  a  far  distant  mountain,  which 
some  fisherman  vainly  strives,  to  no  purpose,  to  ensnare. 
He  looks  at  the  crow,  Mr.  President, — and — Mr.  President, 
the  crow  looks  at  him ;  and,  sir,  they  both  look  at  each 
other.  But  the  moment  he  attempts  to  reproach  him,  he 
banishes  away  like  the  schismatic  taints  of  the  rainbow,  the 
cause  of  which,  it  was  the  astonishing  and  perspiring  genius 
of  a  Newton,  who  first  deplored  and  enveloped  the  cause 
of  it. 

2.  Can  not  the  poor  man,  sir,  precipitate  into  all  the  beau- 
ties of  nature,  from  the  loftiest  mounting  up  to  the  most 
humblest  valley,  as  well  as  the  man  prepossessed  of  indi- 
gence? Yes,  sir;  while  trilling  transports  crown  his  view, 
and  rosy  hours  allure  his  sanguinary  youth,  he  can  raise 
ais  mind  up  to  the  laws  of  nature,  incompressible  as  they 
are,  while  viewing  the  lawless  storm  that  kindleth  up  the 
tremenjious  roaring  thunder,  and  fireth  up  the  dark  and 
•apid  lightenings,  and  causeth  it  to  fly  through  the  inten- 
sity of  space,  that  belches  forth  those  awful  and  sublime 
meteors,  and  roll-abolly-aliascs,  through  the  unfathomable 
legions  of  fiery  hemispheres. 

3.  Sometimes,  sir,  seated  in  some  lovely  retreat,  beneath 
the  shadowy  shades  of  an  umbrageous  tree,  at  whose  venal 
foot  flows  some  limping  stagi.ant  stream,  he  gathers  around 
him  his  wife  and  the  rest  of  his  orphan  children.  He  there 
f..i  ,..   ..  retrospective  view  upon  the  diagrain  of  futurity,  and 

i.D.— 32 


878  ELOCUTION. 

casts  his  eye  like  a  flashing  meteor  forward  into  the  past 
Seated  in  their  midst,  aggravated  and  exhaled  by  the  dig- 
nity and  independence  coincident  with  honorable  poverty, 
his  countenance  irrigated  with  an  intense  glow  of  self  defi- 
ciency and  excommunicated  knowledge,  he  quietly  turns  to 
instruct  his  little  assemblage.  lie  there  endeavors  to  distill 
into  their  young  youthful  minds,  useless  lessons  to  guard 
Iheir  juvenile  youths  against  vice  and  immortality. 

4.  There,  on  a  clear  sunny  evening,  when  the  silvery 
moon  is  shining  forth  in  all  her  indulgence  and  ubiquity, 
he  teaches  the  first  sediments  of  gastronomy,  by  pointing 
out  to  them  the  bear,  the  lion,  and  many  other  fixed  invis- 
ible consternations,  which  are  continually  involving  upon 
their  axletrccs,  through  the  blue  cerulean  fundamus  above. 
From  this  vast  etherial  he  dives  with  them  to  the  very  bot- 
tom of  the  unfathomable  oceans,  bringing  up  from  thence 
liquid  treasures  of  earth  and  air.  He  then  courses  with 
them  on  the  imaginable  wing  of  fancy  through  the  bound- 
less regions  of  unimaginable  either,  until,  swelling  into 
Impalpable  immensity,  he  is  forever  lost  in  the  infinite 
radiation  of  his  own  overwhelming  genius. 


CXCVI.— THE  WHISKERS. 

1.  The  kings  who  ruled  mankind  with  haughty  sway, 
The  prouder  pope,  whom  even  kings  obey — 
Love,  at  whose  shrine  both  popes  and  monarchs  fall, 
And  e'en  self-interest,  that  controls  them  all — 
Possess  a  petty  power,  when  all  combined. 
Compared  with  fashion's  influence  on  mankind : 
For  love  itself  will  oft  to  fashion  bow ; 
The  following  story  will  convince  you  how: 

2.  A  petit  maitre  wooed  a  fair, 

Of  virtue,  wealth,  and  graces  rare ; 
But  vainly  had  preferred  his  claim, 
The  maiden  owned  no  answering  flame ; 
At  length,  by  doubt  and  anguish  torn, 
Suspense,  too  painful  to  be  borne, 
Low  at  her  feet  he  humbly  kneeled, 
And  thus  his  ardent  flame  revealed : 


A  .M  1  >  1  .N  i; 

3.  **  Pity  my  grief,  angelic  fair, 
Behold  my  anguish  and  despair; 
For  you,  this  heart  must  ever  burn — 
0  bless  me,  with  a  kind  return; 

My  love,  no  language  can  express. 
Reward  it  then,  with  happiness ; 

4.  Nothing  on  earth  but  you  I  prize, 
All  else  is  trifling  in  my  eyes ; 
And  cheerfully  would  I  resign 

The  wealth  of  worlds,  to  call  you  mine 
But,  if  another  gain  your  hand, 
Far  distant  from  my  native  land, 
Far  hence  from  you  and  hope  I  '11  fly, 
And  in  some  foreign  region  die." 

5.  The  virgin  heard,  and  thus  replied : 
"  If  my  consent  to  be  your  bride. 
Will  make  you  happy,  then  be  blest ; 
But  grant  me,  first,  one  small  request ; 
A  sacrifice  I  must  demand. 

And  in  return  will  give  my  hand." 

6.  "  A  sacrifice  I  0  speak  its  name. 

For  you  I  'd  forfeit  wealth  and  fame ; 
Take  my  whole  fortune — every  cent — " 

7.  "'T  was  something  more  than  wealth  I  meant' 

8.  "  Must  I  the  realms  of  Neptune  trace  ? 

0  speak  the  word— where  'er  the  place, 
For  you,  the  idol  of  my  soul, 

1  'd  e'en  explore  the  frozen  pole ; 
Arabia's  sandy  deserts  tread. 

Or  trace  the  Tigris  to  its  head." 

ft  "  0  no,  dear  sir,  I  do  not  ask, 
So  long  a  voyage,  so  hard  a  task ; 
You  must — but  ah!  the  Luon  I  want, 
I  have  no  hope  that  you  will  grant" 

10.  "Shall  I,  like  Bonaparte,  aspire 
To  bo  the  world's  imperial  sire? 
Express  the  wish,  and  here  I  vow, 
To  place  a  crown  upon  your  brow." 


880  ELOCUTION 

11.  *'  Sir,  these  are  trifles"— she  .•epliea— 
**  But,  if  you  wish  mo  for  your  bride, 
You  must — but  still  I  fear  to  speak — 
Tou  '11  never  grant  the  boon  I  seek." 

12.  **0  say;"  he  criod — "dear  angel  say— 
What  must  I  do,  and  I  obey ; 

No  longer  rack  me  with  suspense. 

Speak  your  comm".'"'''    '^'^-i  Kor.,1  ti-io  Jw>rw'.>  " 

\A.   "Well,  then,  dear  generous  youini     t^iio  cnea, 
"If  thus  my  heart  you  really  prize, 
And  wish  to  link  your  fate  with  mine. 
On  one  condition  I  am  thine; 
'T  will  then  become  my  pleasing  duty. 
To  contemplate  a  husband's  beauty  ; 
And,  gazing  on  your  manly  face, 
His  feelings  and  his  wishes  trace ;  . 
To  banish  thence  each  mark  of  care. 
And  light  a  smile  of  pleasure  there. 
0  let  me  then,  't  is  all  I  ask, 
Commence  at  once  the  pleasing  task ; 

0  let  me,  as  becomes  my  place. 

Cut  those  huge  whiskers  from  your  face." 

14    She  said — but  0,  what  strange  surprise — 
Was  pictured  in  her  lover's  eyes! 
Liike  lightning,  from  the  ground  he  sprungi 
While  wild  amazement  tied  his  tongue; 
A  statue,  motionless,  he  gazed, 
Astonished,  horror-struck,  amazed. 
So,  looked  the  gallant  Perseus,  when 
Medusa's  visage  met  his  ken ; 
So,  looked  Macbeth,  whose  guilty  eye 
Discerned  an  "air-drawn  dagger"  nigh; 
And  60,  the  prince  of  Denmark  stared, 
When  first  his  father's  ghost  appeared. 

15.  At  length  our  hero  silence  broke, 
And  thus,  in  wildest  accents  spoke: 
•'Cut  off  my  whiskers!  0  ye  gods! 

1  'd  sooner  lose  my  ears,  by  odds ; 
Madam,  I  'd  not  be  so  disgraced. 
So  lost  to  fashion  and  to  taste. 


AMUSING.  881 

To  win  an  empress  to  my  arms; 

Though  blest  with  more  than  mortal  charms. 

My  whiskers!  zounds!"     He  said  no  more, 

But  quick  retreated  through  the  door, 

And  sought  a  less  obdurate  fair, 

To  take  the  beau  with  all  his  hair.       woodsworth. 


CXCVII.— ELOQUENCE  IxN  A  WESTERN  COURT. 

1.  Gentlemen  op  the  jury: — Can  you  for  an  instant 
•appose  that  my  client  here,  a  man  that  has  alers  sustained 
a  high  depredation  in  society ;  a  man  you  all  on  you  suspect 
and  esteem  for  his  many  good  quantities ;  yes,  gentlemen,  a 
man  what  never  drinks  more  nor  a  quart  of  liquor  a  day; 
can  you,  I  say,  for  an  instant  suppose  that  this  'ere  man 
would  be  guilty  of  hooking  a  box  of  percushams?  Txittle 
snakes  and  coonskins  forbid  I 

2.  Picture  to  yourselves,  gentlemen,  a  feller  fast  asleep  in 
his  log  cabin,  with  his  innocent  wife  and  orphan  children 
by  his  side — all  nature  hushed  in  deep  repose,  and  nought 
to  be  heard  but  the  muttering  of  the  silent  thunder  and  the 
hollerin'  of  bull  frogs.  Then  imagine  to  yourself  a  feller 
sneakin'  up  to  the  door  like  a  despicable  hyena,  softly  enter- 
ing the  dwelling  of  the  peaceful  and  happy  family,  and  in 
the  most  mendacious  manner  hooking  a  whole  box  of  per- 
cushams. 

3.  Gentlemen,  I  will  not,  I  can  not  dwell  upon  the  mon- 
strosity of  such  a  scene.  My  feelings  turn  from  such  a 
picture  of  moral  turpentine,  just  like  a  big  woodchuck  would 
turn  from  my  dog  Rose.  I  can  not,  for  an  instant,  harbor 
the  idea  that  any  man  in  these  diggins,  much  less  this  'ere 
man,  could  be  guilty  of  committing  an  act  of  sich  rantank- 
erous  and  uncxtrampled  discretion. 

4.  And  now,  gentlemen,  after  this  'ere  brief  view  of  the 
ease,  let  me  retreat  of  you  to  make  up  your  minds  candidly 
and  impractically,  and  give  us  sich  a  verdict  as  we  might 
ren.sonably  suspect  from  sich  an  enlightened  and  intolerant 
boJv    of  our    fi'llow-fiti/ony        Kcnu'inbor    that,    in    the    lau- 


882  ELoci 

guage  of  the  immortal  Nimrod,  who  fell  in  the  Battle  of 
Bunker  Ilill,  "  It  is  better  thrtt  *o.^  v^n  should  escape,  than 
one  guilty  should  suflfet."  DR.  valentine. 


CXCVin.— POETRY  NOW-A-DAYa 

1.  Qow  very  absurd  is  half  the  stuff 

Called  "Poetry,"  now-a-daysl 
The  "Stanzas,"  and  "Epics,"  and  "Odes,"  are  enough 
To  put  every  lover  of  rhyme  in  a  huff, 

And  disgust  the  old  hens  with  their  "  lays." 

2.  There  's  one  sighing  for  "  wings  to  soar  o'er  the  sea," 

And  "  bask  in  some  distant  clime," 
Without  ever  thinking  how  "sore"  he 
After  flying  away  on  such  a  spree, 

With  nothing  to  eat,  the  meantime. 

3.  Another  insists  on  being  a  "bird," 

To  "fly  to  his  lady-love's  bower," 
When  he  knows  that  the  "lady"  to  whom  he  referred 
Don't  own  such  a  thing ;  for  (upon  my  word) 
In  a  "yaller"  brick  house,  up  in  story  the  third, 

She  's  living  this  very  hour. 

4.  One  asks  but  "a  cave  in  some  forest  dell, 

Away  from  the  cold  world's  strife." 
Now,  the  woods  in  fine  weather  are  all  very  well, 
But  give  him  a  six  weeks'  "  rainy  spell," 
And  he  '11  soon  "  cave  in  "  in  his  forest  cell. 

And  be  sick  enough  of  the  life. 

5.  Another  one  wants  his  "love  to  go 

And  roam  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea;" 
Perhaps  he  don't  think,  if  there  "  comes  on  a  blow," 
That  they  'd  botli  be  sea-sick  down  below, 

And  a  wretched  pair  they  'd  be. 

6.  Another  young  man  would  like  to  die 

"When  the  roses  bloom  in  spring." 
Just  let  him  get  sick,  and  he  '11  change  his  cry ; 
His  "passing  away"  is  "all  in  my  eye;" 
Of  "  dreamless  sleeps  "  he  gets  quite  shy  ; 

It  is  n't  exactly  the  thing. 


AMUSING  383 

7.  Another  would  "die  and  be  laid  in  a  doll, 

Beneath  some  murmuring  rill." 
Now,  in  poetry's  jingle,  it  'a  nice  to  tell ; 
But  a  nasty,  wet  place! — so  why  not  as  well 

llave  a  nice,  dry  grave  on  the  hill? 

8.  One  "  loves  "—how  he  loves ! — "  the  glittering  foam 

And  the  mad  waves*  angry  strife." 
Just  take  the  young  genius  who  wrote  the  pome, 
Where  the  "billows  dash  and  the  sea-birds  roam," 
And  he  'd  give  all  ho  had  to  be  safely  at  home ; 

lie  'd  stay  there  the  rest  of  his  life. 

9.  Another  young  "heart-broken"  calls  on  his  "own. 

To  cheer  him  with  one  sweet  smile ;" 
Then  he  follows  it  up  in  a  love-sick  tone, 
With  his  "bosom  pangs:"  (if  the  truth  was  known,) 
It  is  n't  the  "love"  that  causes  his  moan, 

But  a  superabundance  of  "  bile." 


CXCIX.— DANIEL  versus  DISHCLOTH. 

1.  Wb  will  consider  the  law,  as  our  laws  are  very  consid- 
erable, both  in  bulk  and  magnitude  according  as  the  statutes 
declare,  considerandi,  cotisiderando,  cojisiderandum ;  and  are 
not  to  be  meddled  with  by  those  who  do  not  understand 
them.  Law  always  expresses  itself  with  true  grammatical 
precision,  never  confounding  words,  cases,  or  genders,  ex- 
cept, indeed,  when  a  woman  happens  to  be  slain,  then  the 
verdict  is  always  brought  in  manslaughter.  We  all  know 
that  the  essence  of  the  law  is  altercation ;  for  the  law  can 
altercate,  fulminate,  deprecate,  irritate,  and  go  on  at  any 
rate.  Now  the  quintessence  of  the  law  has,  according  to  its 
name,  five  parts  : — the  first  is  the  beginning,  or  incipiendinn ; 

' — tho  second,  the  uncertainty,  or  dubitandum; — the  third, 
delay,  or  puzzlecndum ; — fourthly,  replication  without  endum; 
— and  fifthly,  monstrum  et  horrendum.  All  of  which  are 
fully  exemplified  in   the  following  case   of  Daniel  vertm 

DiSQCLOTH. 

2.  Daniel  was  a  groom  in  the  same  family  in  which  Dish- 
cloth was  cook-maid ;  Daniel  returning  home  one  day  some- 
what fuddled,  he  stooped  down   to  take  a  sop  out  of   the 


S84  ELOCUTION. 

drippiug-pan ;  Dishcloth  thereupon  laid  hold  upon  Imn, 
and  in  the  struggle  pushed  him  into  the  dripping-pan, 
which  spoiled  his  clothes.  He  was  advised  to  bring  an 
action  against  the  cook-maid  therefor,  the  pleadings  of  which 
arc  as  follows  : — 

3.  The  first  counsel  who  spoke  was  Mr.  Serjeant  Snuffle. 
He  began  with  saying: — "Since  I 'have  the  honor  to  be 
pitched  upon  to  open  this  case  to  your  lordship,  I  shall  not 
impertinently  presume  to  take  up  any  of  your  lordship's 
time,  by  a  roundabout,  circumlocutory  manner  of  speaking, 
or  talking,  quite  foreign  to  the  purpose,  and  not  anywise 
relating  to  the  matter  in  band ;  I  shall — I  will — I  design 
to  show  what  damages  ray  client  has  sustained,  hereupon, 
whereupon,  and  thereupon.  Now,  my  lord,  my  client  being 
a  servant  in  the  same  family  with  Dishcloth,  and,  not  being 
at  board-wages,  imagined  he  had  a  right  to  the  fee  simple 
t)f  the  dripping-pan, — therefore,  he  made  an  attachment  on 
the  sop  with  his  right  hand, — which  the  defendant  replevied 
with  her  right  hand, — tripped  up  our  heels,  and  tumbled  us 
into  the  dripping-pan. 

4.  Now,  in  Broughton's  Reports,  black  vs.  Smallcoat,  it 
is  said,  primus  strokus,  sine  jocus,  absolutes  est  provokos ; 
now,  who  gave  the  primus  strokus?  Who  gave  the  first 
offense?  Why,  the  cook-maid;  she  placed  the  dripping-pan 
there ;  for,  my  lord,  though  we  will  allow,  if  it  had  not  been 
where  we  icere^  we  could  not  have  tumbled  where  we  did — 
yet,  my  lord — if  the  dripping-pan  had  not  been  where  it 
was,  we  could  not  have  fallen  down  into  the  dripping-pan." 

5.  The  next  counsel,  on  the  same  side,  began  with — "  My 
lord,  he  who  makes  use  of  many  words  to  no  purpose,  has 
not  much  to  say  for  himself;  therefore,  I  shall  come  to  the 
point  at  once,  at  once  and  immediately  I  shall  come  to  the 
point.  My  client  was  in  liquor — the  liquor  in  him  having 
served  an  ejectment  upon  his  understanding,  common  sense 
was  non-suited,  and  he  was  a  man  beside  himself,  or,  as 
Doctor  Biblicus  declares,  in  his  dissertation  upon  bumpers 
in  the  one  hundred  and  thirty-ninth  folio  volume  of  the 
abridgment  of  the  statutes,  page  one  thousand  two  hundred 
and  eighty-six,  thftt  a  drunken  man  is  a  homo  duplicans, 


AMUSING.  385 

or  a  double  man — not  only  because  be  sees  things  double, 
but  also,  because  be  is  not  as  be  sbould  be,  '"pcrfecto  ipst  — 
but  is  as  be  sbould  not  be,  '  defecto  tipse.'  " 

6.  The  counsel  for  the  cook-maid  rose  up  gracefully,  play- 
ing with  his  ruffles  prettily,  and  tossing  the  ties  of  bis  wig 
about  emphatically.  He  began  with — "  My  lud,  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  jury, — T  humbly  do  conceive,  1  have  the 
luthority  to  declare  that  I  am  counsel  in  this  case  for  the 
defendant — therefore,  my  lud.  I  shall  not  flourish  away  in 
words :  words  are  no  more  than  tillagree  works ;  some 
people  may  think  them  an  embellishment;  but  to  me,  it  is 
a  matter  of  astonishment,  how  any  one  can  be  so  imperti- 
nent to  use  them  to  the  detriment  of  all  rudiments;  but, 
my  lud,  this  is  not  to  be  looked  at  through  the  medium  of 
right  and  wrong;  for  the  law  knows  no  medium,  and  right 
and  wrong  are  but  mere  shadows. 

7.  "Now,  in  the  first  place,  they  have  called  a  kitchen, 
my  client's  premises.  Now,  a  kitchen  is  nobody's  premises 
— a  kitchen  is  uot  a  warehouse,  a  wash-house,  a  brew-house, 
an  out-house,  or  an  in-house,  nor  a  dwelling-house,  nor  any 
house — no,  my  lud,  'tis  absolutely  and  bona  fide  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  kitchen,  or,  as  the  law  more  classically 
expresses  it — a  kitchen  is,  camera  necessaria  pro  usos  cook- 
are  ;  cum  sauce-panis,  stew-panis,  scullero,  dressero,  coal- 
hole, stovis,  smoak-jacko,  pro  roastandum,  boilandum,  fry- 
andum,  et  plum-pudding  mixandum  ;  pro  turtle  supos,  calves' 
head  bashibus,  cum  calippe  ct  calipbashibus.  Moreover,  we 
fiball  not  avail  ourselves  of  an  alibi,  but  admit  the  existence 
of  a  cook-maid.  Now,  my  lud,  we  shall  take  a  new  ground, 
and  beg  a  new  trial — for  as  they  have  curtailed  our  name 
in  th«^ir  pleadings  from  plain  Mary  into  Moll,  I  hope  the 
court  will  not  allow  of  this — for  if  the  court  were  to  allow 
mistakes  what  would  become  of  the  law  ? — although  where 
there  are  no  mistakes,  it  is  clearly  the  business  of  the  law 
to  make  them." 

8.  Therefore,  the  court,  after  due  consideration,  granted 
the  parties  a  new  trial ;  for  the  law  is  our  liberty,  and  happy 
it  is  for  us  that  we  have  the  privilege  of  going  to  law. 

BTEVEN8. 

Ki»D.— 33 


S86  ELOCUTION. 

OU-  -THE  HOUSEKEEPERS  SOLILOQUY. 

1.  IIere  *a  a  big  washing  to  be  done-^ 

One  pair  of  hands  to  do  it — 
Sheets,  shirts  and  stockings,  coata  and  pants, 
llow  will  I  e'er  get  through  it? 

2.  Dinner  to  get  for  six  or  more, 

No  loaf  left  o'er  from  Sunday  ; 
And  baby  cross  as  he  can  live — 
He  's  always  so  on  Monday. 

3.  'T  is  time  the  meat  was  in  the  pot, 

The  bread  was  worked  for  baking, 
The  clothes  were  taken  from  the  boil — 
Oh  dear  I  the  baby  's  waking  I 

4.  Hush,  baby  dear!  there,  hush-sh-shi 

I  wish  he  'd  sleep  a  little, 
'Till  I  could  run  and  get  some  wood. 
To  hurry  up  that  kettle. 

5   Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  if  P comes  hou>e. 

And  finds  things  in  this  pother, 
He  '11  just  begin  and  tell  me  all 
About  his  tidy  mother! 

6.  How  nice  her  kitchen  used  to  be, 

Her  dinner  always  ready 
Exactly  when  the  noon-bell  rang — 
Ilush,  hush,  dear  little  Freddy! 

7.  And  then  will  come  some  hasty  words, 

Right  out  before  I  'm  thinking, — 
They  say  that  hasty  words  from  wive» 
Set  sober  men  to  drinking. 

8.  Now,  is  not  that  a  great  idea. 

That  men  should  take  to  sinning. 
Because  a  weary,  half-sick  wife, 
Can't  always  smile  so  winning? 

9.  When  I  was  young  I  used  to  earn 

My  living  without  trouble, 
llad  clothes  and  pocket-money,  too, 
And  hours  of  leisure  double. 


AMUSING.  387 

10.  1  never  dreamed  of  such  a  fate, 
Whca  I,  a-lass  I  was  courted — 
Wife,  mother,  nurne,  seamstress,  cook,  housekeeper,  chambermaid, 
laundress,  dairy  woman,  and  scrub  generally,  doing  the  work  of 
six. 

For  the  sake  of  being  supported ! 

MRS.    F.   D.   GAQk. 


CCI.— THE  REJECTED. 

1.  Not  have  me  I     Not  love  me!     Oh,  what  have  I  said? 
Sure,  never  was  lover  so  strangely  misled. 
Rejected  I  and  just  when  I  hoped  to  be  blessed  I 
You  can't  be  in  earnest !     It  must  be  a  jest. 

-.   Remember — remember  how  often  I've  knelt. 
Explicitly  telling  you  all  that  I  felt, 
And  talked  about  poison  in  accents  so  wild. 
So  very  like  torture,  you  started — and  smiled. 

3.  Not  have  me  I     Not  love  me  I     Oh,  what  have  I  done  ? 
All  natural  nourishment  did  I  not  shun? 

My  figure  is  wasted;  my  spirits  are  lost; 

And  my  eyes  are  deep  sunk,  like  the  eyes  of  a  ghost. 

4.  Remember,  remember — ay,  madam,  you  must — 
I  once  was  exceedingly  stout  and  robust; 

I  rode  by  your  palfrey ;  I  came  at  your  call, 
And  nightly  went  with  you  to  ban'^uet  aiid  ball. 

5.  Not  have  me!     Not  love  me  !    Re)cc<-ed  1     Refused  1 
Sure,  never  was  lover  so  strangely  ill-used ! 
Consider  my  presents — I  do  n't  mean  to  boasi — 
But,  madam,  consider  the  money  they  cost! 

6.  Remember  vom  th^m;  and  just  can  it  ot 
To  take  all  my  trinkets,  and  not  to  take  mo  ? 

Nay,  do  n't  throw  them  at  me  1     You'll  break    do  no 

start — 
I  do  n't  mean  my  gift* — ^but  you  will  break  my  heart  I 

7.  Not  have  me  1     Not  love  me !    Not  go  to  the  chtirdi  I 
Sure,  never  was  lover  so  left  in  the  lurch! 

My  brain  in  distrnct'»d,  my  f«*e!injr^  :»re  hurt; 
Oh,  madam 


388  ELOCUTION. 

8.  Remember  my  letters;  my  passion  thev  :     1  ; 
Yes,  all  sorts  of  letters,  save  letters  ot*  gold ; 

The  amount  of  my  notes,  too— the  notes  that  I  penned, 
Not  bank  notes — no,  truly,  1  had  -end ! 

9.  Not  have  me!     Not  love  me  I     And  is  it,  then,  true 
That  opulent  Ago  is  the  lover  for  you? 

'Gainst  rivalry's  bloom  I  would  strive — 't  is  too  much 
To  yield  to  the  terror  of  rivalry's  crutch. 

10.  Ilemember — remember  I  might  call  him  out; 
But,  madam,  you  are  not  worth  fighting  about ; 
My  sword  shall  be  stainless,  in  blade,  and  in  hilt: 
I  thought  you  a  jewel — I  find  you  a  jilt. 


CCn.— THE  CONFESSION. 

1.  TuERE  's  some  thing  on  my  breast,  father, 

There  's  some  thing  on  my  breast ; 
The  live-long  day,  I  spend  in  sighs ; 
At  night  I  can  not  rest. 

2.  I  can  neither  sleep  nor  eat,  father; 

Though  I  would  fain  do  so; 
A  heavy  load  oppresseth  me — 
A  heavy  load  of  woe. 

3.  'T  is  not  the  lack  of  gold,  father, 

Nor  lack  of  worldly  gear; 
My  lands  are  broad  and  rich,  father, 
My  friends  are  kind  and  dear. 

4.  My  kin— they  all  are  true,  father, 

And  mourn  to  see  my  grief: 
But  oh !  H  is  not  a  kinsman's  hand 
Can  give  my  heart  relief. 

5.  'T  is  not  that  Mary  's  false,  father, 

'T  is  not  that  she  's  unkind. 
Though  busy  flatterers  swarm  around, 
I  know  her  constant  mind. 

6.  It  is  not  that,  nor  all  of  those. 

That  chills  my  troubled  breast- 
It  's  those  confounded  cucumbers, 
I  've  eat,  and  can  't  digest 


AMUSING.  389 

CCHL—THE  BACHELORS  SOLILOQUY. 

To  MARRr,  or  not  to  marry  ?  that 's  the  question. 

Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  bach  to  suffer 

The  jeers  and  banters  of  outrageous  females, 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And  by  proposing,  end  them.     To  court ;  to  marry. 

To  be  a  bach  no  more:  and,  by  a  marriage  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thourjand  and  one  ills 

Bachelors  are  heir  to ;  't  is  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  court,  to  marry; 

To  marry !  perchance  to  rue — ay,  there  's  the  rub ; 

For  in  that  state  what  afterthoughts  may  come, 

When  wo  have  shuffled  off  this  bachelor  coil. 

Must  bring  repentance.     There  's  the  respect 

That  makes  men  live  so  long  a  single  life, 

For  who  would  bear  the  scorn  of  pretty  girls, 

The  hints  of  widows,- the  insolence  of  married  men, 

The  inconveniences  of  undarned  socks. 

And  thread-bare  coats,  and  shirts  with  buttons  off. 

The  pangs  of  love-fits,  and  the  misery 

Of  sleeping  with  cold  feet,  the  dumps,  the  blues. 

The  horrors  and  the  owl-like  loneliness ; 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  "will  you  have  me?"     Who  would  bear 

To  fret  and  groan  under  a  single  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  marriage — 

That  undiscovered  net-work  from  whose  meshes 

No  venturer  escapes,  puzzles  the  will 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  wo  have 

Than  fly  to  others  that  wo  know  not  of? 


CCIV  — THE  INEXPERIENCED  SPEAKER. 

The  awkward,  untried  speaker  rises  now. 

And  to  the  audience  makes  a  jerking  Ik>w. 

lie  staggers — almost  falls — stares — strokes  his  chin-- 

Clcars  out  his  throat,  and  .  .  ventures  to  begin. 

"Sir,  I  am  .  .  sensible" — (some  titter  near  him) — 

"I  am,  sir,  sensible" — "Hear!  hear!"  (they  cljcor  him.) 

Now  holder  grown — for  praise  mistaking  pother — 

lie  pumps  first  one  arm  up,  and  then  the  other. 


390  ELOCUTION. 

,       "  1  am,  sb,  sensible — I  am  indeed — 

That, .  .  though — I  should — want — words — I  must  proceed 

And  .  .  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  thick — 

I  think— that — no  great— orator — should- «brink-- 

And,  therefore, — Mr.  Speaker, — I,  for  onj — 

Will  . .  speak  out  freely. — Sir — I  've  noi  yet  done. 

Sir,  in  the  name  of  those  enlightened  men 

Who  sent  me  here  to  .  .  speiik  for  them — why,  then  . . 

To  do  my  duty — as  I  said  lefore— 

To  my  constituency — I  '11 .  .  say  no  mora" 


CCV.— TEE  FRENCHMAN  AND  THE  RATS. 

L  A  Frexchman  once,  who  was  a  merry  wight. 
Passing  to  town  from  Dover  in  the  night. 
Near  the  roadside  an  ale-house  chanced  to  spy 
And  being  rather  tired  as  well  as  dry, 
Resolved  to  enter ;  but  first  he  took  a  peep. 
In  hopes  a  supper  he  might  get,  and  cheap. 
He  enters:  '*  Hallo  !  Gar^on,  if  you  please. 
Bring  me  a  leetel  bit  of  bread  and  cheese. 
And  hallo !  Gar<jon,  a  pot  of  porter,  too  I"  he  said. 
**  Vich  I  shall  take,  and  den  myself  to  bed." 

2.  nis  supper  done,  some  scraps  of  cheese  were  left, 
Which  our  poor  Frenchman,  thinking  it  no  theft. 
Into  his  pocket  put ;  then  slowly  crept 

To  wished-for  bed;  but  not  a  wink  he  slept — 
For,  on  the  floor  some  sacks  of  flour  were  laid. 
To  which  the  rats  a  nightly  visit  paid. 
Our  hero  now  undressed,  popped  out  the  light, 
Put  on  his  cap  and  bade  the  world  good-night; 
But  first  his  breeches,  which  contained  the  fare. 
Under  his  pillow  he  had  placed  with  care. 

3.  Sans  ceremonie,  soon  the  rats  all  ran, 
And  on  the  flour-sacks  greedily  began ; 

At  which  they  gorged  themselves  ;  then  smelling  round, 

Under  the  piilow  soon  the  cheese  they  found ; 

And  while  at  this  they  all  regaling  sat, 

Their  happy  jaws  disturbed  the  Frenchman's  nap; 

Who,  half-awake,  cries  out,  "  Ilallo !  hallo  1 

Vat  is  dat  nibble  at  my  pillow  so  ? 


AMUSING.  391 

A.h  1  't  is  one  big,  one  very  big,  huge  rai  I 
Vftt  is  it  that  he  nibble,  nibble  at  ?" 

4.  In  vain  our  little  hero  sought  repose; 
Sometimes  the  vermin  galloped  o'er  his  nose; 
And  such  the  pranks  they  kept  up  all  the  night, 
That  he,  on  end  antipodes  upright, 

Bawling  aloud,  called  stoutly  for  a  light. 

"  Hallo !  Mai  son  !  Gar<jon,  I  say  ! 

Bring  me  the  bill  for  vat  I  have  to  pay  I" 

The  bill  was  brought,  and  to  his  great  surprise, 

Ten  shillings  was  the  charge,  he  scarce  belieyes  his  eyes. 

With  eager  haste,  he  quickly  runs  it  o'er. 

And  every  time  he  viewed  it  thought  it  more. 

5.  "Vy  zounds,  and  zounds  1"  he  cries,  "I  sail  no  pay; 
Vat  charge  ten  shelangs  for  vat  I  have  mange? 

A  leetel  sop  of  portar,  dis  vile  bed, 

Vare  all  de  rats  do  run  about  my  head?" 

"Plague  on  those  rats  I"  the  landlord  muttered  out; 

"I  wish,  upon  my  word,  that  I  could  make  'em  scout: 

I  '11  pay  him  well  that  can."     "Vat  's  dat  you  say?" 

"I  '11  pay  him  well  that  can."     "Attend  to  me  I  pray: 

Vil  you  dis  charge  forego,  vat  I  am  at, 

If  from  your  house  I  drive  away  de  rati" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  the  jolly  host  replies. 

"  Ecoutez  done,  ami ;"  the  Frenchman  cries. 

"  First,  den — Regardez,  if  you  please, 

Bring  to  dis  spot  a  leetel  bread  and  cheese : 

Eh  bien !  a  pot  of  porter,  too ; 

And  den  invite  de  rats  to  sup  vid  you : 

And  after  dat — no  matter  dey  be  villi ng — 

For  dat  dey  eat,  you  charge  dem  just  ten  shelang: 

And  I  am  sure,  ven  dey  behold  de  score, 

Dey  'U  quit  your  house,  and  never  come  no  more." 


CCVI— BORROWED  NAILS— HEADS  AND  POINTS. 

1.  The  moon  was  shining  silver  bright, 

All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow; 
When  freedom  from  the  mountain  hight 
Exclaimed  "  Now,  don't  be  foolish.  Joe !" 


-592  ELOCUTION. 

2.  An  hour  passed  on,  the  Turk  awoke, 

A  bumble  bee  went  thundering  by, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
And  spread  its  pall  up(»n  tlic  sky. 

3.  His  echoing  axe  the  settler  swung, 

He  was  a  lad  of  high  renown ; 
And  deep  the  pearly  caves  among, 
Giles  Scroggins  courted  Molly  Brown, 

4.  Loud  roars  the  wild,  inconstant  blast. 

And  cloudless  sots  the  sun  at  even; 
When  twilight  dews  are  falling  fast. 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven ! 

5.  Oh,  < '  ! hood's  hour, 

By  UToii  ana  trumpet  fast  arrayed; 
Beneath  yon  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  bull-frog  croaks  his  serenade. 

6.  My  love  is  like  the  red,  red  rose, 

He  bought  a  ring  with  posy  true ; 
Sir  Barney  Bodkin  broke  his  nose, 
And.  Saxon,  I  am  Rhoderick  Dhul 


CCVn.— FOURTH  OF  JULY  ORATION. 

1.  Fellow  Citizens: — This  is  the  ever  adorable,  corn- 
memorable,  and  patriotic  Fourth  of  July.  This  am  the  day 
upon  which  the  American  Eagle  first  chawed  up  its  iron 
catre.  and,  with  a  Yankee  Doodle  scream,  pounced  upon  its 
afTrightcd  tyrants  and  tore  up  their  despotic  hablimeiits  into 
a  thousand  giblets. 

2.  This,  fellow  citizens,  am  the  Fourth  of  July — a  day 
worthy  to  be  the  first-day  of  the  year,  and  a  day  which  will 
be  emblazoned  by  our  latest  posterity,  when  all  other  days 
have  sunk  into  oblivious  noji  compos  mrnfis. 

3.  This,  fellow  citizens,  am  the  day  when  our  ancestral 
progBnitors  unanimously  fought,  bled  and  died,  in  order 
that  we  and  our  childrens'  children  might  cut  their  own 
vine  and  fg  tree  without  being  molested  or  daring  to  make 
any  one  afraid. 


AMUSING.  393 

« 

4.  This  am  the  Fourth  of  July,  fellow  citizens,  and  who 
is  there  that  can  sit  supinely  downward  on  this  prognostic 
anniversary,  and  not  revert  their  mental  reminesences  to  the 
great  epochs  of  the  Revolution — to  the  blooi  bespangled 
plains  of  Bunker  Hill,  Monmouth,  Yorktown,  and  folloM 
the  heroic  herocfs  of  those  times  through  trackless  snows, 
and  blood-stained  deserts,  to  the  eternal  mansions  of  free 
trade  and  sailor's  rights;  and  the  adoreable  enjoyments  of 
the  privelidges  and  prerogatives,  which  fall  like  heavenlj 
dew  upon  every  American  citizen,  from  the  forests  of  Maine 
to  the  everglades  of  Florida ;  and  from  the  fisheries  of  the 
Atlantic  coast  to  the  yellow  banks  of  California,  where  the 
jingling  of  the  golden  boulders  mixes  up  with  the  screams 
of  the  catamount,  and  the  mountain  goat  leaps  from  rock 
to  rock — and — and  where — and — and — I  thank  you.  fellow 
citizens,  for  your  considerable  attention. 


CCVra.— MR.  JOHN  SMITH'S  WELL. 

1.  Now,  Mr.  Smith,  who  had  taken  his  leave, 

"Was  a  prudcntish  sort  of  a  man ; 
He  always  said  to  prevent,  not  retrieve, 

Was  far  the  properest  plan ; 
So,  to  hinder  heart-burning  and  jealous  hate 

And  contending  heirs  make  still. 
Before  ho  surrendcrod  himself  to  fate 

lie  prudently  framed  a  will. 
But  ho  kept  it  shut  from  mortal  look, 

Nor  could  any  define  its  tone ; 
To  the  favored  to-be  't  was  a  close-scaled  book, 

As  well  as  the  destined-to-none. 
So  hopo  ran  strong  and  hope  ran  high 

In  every  degree  of  kin  ; 
For  virtues  of  Smith  was  breathed  many  a  sigh. 

But  smiles  were  reserved  for  his  tin. 

2    Nor  wife  nor  child 

On  Smitli  liad  e'er  smiled, 

To  inherit  the  money  for  which  he  had  toiled; 

And  '     ' '      '  nearer  kin  than  uncles  or  oouaina. 


8ni  ELOCUTION. 

lUit  til'  i  ill  iiuin!  /.ens. 

Now,  cold  \v:i.s  1118  clay, 

And  appointed  the  day 

When  his  will  was  to  open  in  legal  way; 

And  the  Bummons  was  put  in  the  "Post,"  and  all 

Of  tho  "next  of  kin"  were  invited  to  call 

To  see  what  share  to  their  lut  woulcl  fall ; 

And  every  heir 

Had  assembled  there 

From  sea  and  land,  and  no  one  knows  where: 

There  was  Smith  from  the  plain, 
And  Smith  from  tho  still, 

And  Smith  from  the  main, 
And  Smith  from  the  mill. 

And  Smith  from  tho  mountain, 
Aryl  Smith  from  the  mart. 

And  Smith  from  the  fountain, 
And  Smith  froir  ♦*•"  "  "^  • 
From  the  farthest  off 
The  Smiths  all  came  t;i    w  ,    t    )i    u. 

3.  Ar'  *' '-'"  -* 

Taikm;;  all  about  this  and  that, 
"While  the  clock  near  the  door 
Was  watched  more  and  more 
As  the  minute-hand  neared  the  hour  of  four — 
The  hour  set  when  the  opening  seal 
Til  oil-  joy  or  their  chagrin  would  reveal. 
(  '•  \"»  ;iich  a  pot  and  't  will  never  boil," 

lla.>ieu  time — 't  is  an  up-hill  toil ; 
Watch  a  clock  fur  tlie  hour  to  go, 
'T  is  the  weariest  work  a  man  can  knt  w ; 
And  thus  as  they  watched  their  patience  waned, 
Though  not  a  voice  of  the  mass  complained, 
For  they  thought  it  would  n't  be  prudent  to  show 
Thn-;  they  were  aught  anxious  their  doom  to  know 

4.  Four  struck  at  last,  and,  in  eager  array, 
They  gathered  around  an  old  man  gray, 
Who  straightway  out  from  its  iron  nook 
Mr.  Smith's  very  "last  will"  then  took, 
Nicely  with  black  tape  strongly  tied, 
With  a  huge  black  seal  on  either  side. 


AMUSING.  895 

The  click  of  the  shears,  as  the  threads  did  part, 
Went  with  a  thrill  to  each  waiting  heart, 
And  then  with  anxious  ear  they  hung 
Upon  every  word  from  that  old  man's  tongue. 

5.  His  "  soundness  of  mind  " 
And  his  creed  were  defined, 

And  then  came  the  names  to  whom  he  was  kind , 

A  cane  to  this, 

And  a  box  to  that; 

To  one  his  dog, 
Another  his  cat ; 

To  this  his  buckles, 
To  this  his  hat; 
Till,  through  the  long  list  of  legacies  run. 
The  name  of  the  heir  was  lighted  upon ; 
When,  in  tones  like  the  tones  of  a  bell, 
These  were  the  words  from  his  will  that  fell:— 
"And  further,  I,  John, 
Ilave  tixcd  upon, 

To  till  my  place  upon  earth  when  I  'm  gone, 
John  Smith  the  tenth,  to  be  my  heir. 
My  bouse  to  maintain  and  my  honors  to  bear." 

6.  Now,  here  was  a  stew 
To  know  what  to  do, 

Or  who  the  fortune  had  fallen  to; 

They  could  n't  tell,  were  they  to  bo  shot, 

For  fifteen  Johns  were  then  on  the  spot; 

And  which  was  the  tenth  with  the  prefix  "John" 

They  were  sadly  at  loss  to  fix  upon. 

Then  they  argued  the  matter  early  and  late. 

But  doubting  grew  with  the  growing  debate. 

7.  And  law-suits  gathered,  and  fees  flew  free, 
And  juries  tried  it  and  could  n't  agree. 
And  fortunes  were  spent,  till  hope  was  gone. 
In  finding  who  was  the  favored  John! 

But  they  found  instead  that  it  would  n't  pay. 
And  80  in  court  they  allowed  it  to  lay 
In  the  dust  and  rust  of  years  piled  away. 

8.  A  century  is  it  since  John  Smith  died, 
And  }>■>-  f-'^iiv  Tinme  ia  scattered  wide. 


396  ELOCUTION. 

And  towns  haTo  arisen  upon  his  broad  land, 

Prosperity  beaming  on  every  hand ; 

A  factory  hums  o'er  his  old  hearth-stone, 

Bat  John  Smith  the  tenth  one  was  never  known, 

And  John  Smith's  will  will  in  chancery  be, 

Till  Time  is  lost  in  Eternity's  sea«  shillabke. 


CCVIX— EXAMINATION  OF  A  WITNESS. 

Judge.     What  do  you  follow  for  a  livelihood? 

Witneu.     Nothing  in  particular,  your  honor. 

Judge.  You  do  not  appear  to  have  any  property  ;  how 
do  you  get  your  bread? 

Witnett.  Sometimes,  sur,  I  get  it  at  Mr.  0' Tool's, 
sometimes  at  Dennis  McFarland's.  and  sometimes  at  the 
grocery  round  the  corner. 

Judge.  Stop,  you  do  n  t  understand  me;  I  mean,  how 
do  you  support  yourself? 

Witness.  I  support  myself  on  a  chair,  in  the  day-time, 
and  on  a  bed  in  the  night-time,  sur. 

Judge.  I  do  n't  sit  here  to  be  trifled  with  by  such  fel- 
lows as  you  !     Are  you  a  mechanic  ? 

Witness.     No,  sur,  I  am  a  Presbyterian. 

Judge.  Come,  sir,  if  you  do  n't  answer  my  question,  I  '11 
have  you  taken  care  of 

Witness.  Troth,  and  if  ycr  honor  will  do  that  same,  I 
shall  be  dapely  obliged  to  you,  for  the  times  arc  so  hard 
that  I  can  hardly  take  care  of  myself. 

Judge.     T  believe  you  are  an  idle  vagabond. 

Witness.  Ter  honor  is  very  slow  of  belief,  or  you  would 
have  found  that  out  some  time  ago. 

Judge.     What  do  you  know  of  the  case  before  the  court  ? 

Witness.     Nothing  at  all,  sur. 

Judge.     Then  why  do  you  stand  there? 

Witness.  Because  I  have  no  chair  in  which  to  sit  down, 
Bur. 

Judge.     Go  about  your  business. 


AMUSING  897 

CCX.— MRS.  CAUDLE'S  LECTURE. 

1.  There,  Mr.  Caudle,  I  hope  you  're  in  a  little  bettei 
temper  than  you  were  this  morning.  There,  you  need  n't 
begin  to  whistle  :  people  don't  come  to  bed  to  whistle.  But 
it 's  like  you ;  I  ean  't  speak,  that  you  do  n't  try  to  insult  me. 
Once,  I  used  tc  say  you  were  the  best  creature  living :  now, 
you  get  quite  a  fiend.  Do  let  you  rest?  No,  I  won't  let 
Tou  rest.  It 's  the  only  time  I  have  to  talk  to  you,  and  you 
uluill  hear  me.  I  'm  put  upon  all  day  long  :  it 's  very  hard 
if  I  can't  speak  a  word  at  night;  and  it  is  n't  often  I  open 
my  mouth,  goodness  knows ! 

2.  liecause  once  in  your  lifetime  your  shirt  wanted  a  but- 
ton, you  must  almost  swear  the  roof  off  the  house.  You 
didu't  swear?.  11a,  Mr.  Caudle !  you  do  n't  know  what  you 
do  when  you  're  in  a  passion.  You  were  not  in  a  passion, 
wcr'nt  you?  Well,  then  I  do  n't  know  what  a  passion  is; 
and  1  think  I  ought  by  this  time.  I  've  lived  long  enough 
with  you,  Mr.  Caudle,  to  know  that. 

3.  It  's  a  pity  you  hav  'nt  something  worse  to  complain 
of  than  a  button  off  your  shirt.  If  you  'd  some  wives,  you 
would,  I  know.  I  'm  sure  I  'm  never  without  a  needle-and- 
thread  in  my  hand ;  what  with  you  and  the  children,  I  'm 
made  a  perfect  slave  of.  And  what's  my  thanks?  Why, 
if  onoe  in  your  life  a  button  's  off  your  shirt — what  do  you 
say  'aA'  at?  I  say  once,  Mr.  Caudle;  or  twice  or  three 
times,  at  most.  I  'm  sure,  Caudle,  no  man's  buttons  in  the 
world  are  better  looked  after  than  yours.  I  only  wish  I  'd 
kept  the  shirts  you  had  when  you  were  first  married !  I 
.should  like  to  know  where  were  your  buttons  then  ? 

4.  Yes,  it  is  worth  talking  of!  But  that  's  how  you  always 
try  to  put  me  down.  You  fly  into  a  rage,  and  then,  if  1 
only  try  to  speak,  you  won't  hear  mo.  That 's  how  you  men 
always  will  have  all  the  talk  to  yourselves :  a  poor  woman 
is  n't  allowed  to  get  a  word  in.  A  nice  notion  you  have 
of  a  wife,  to  suppose  she's  nothing  to  think  of  hut  her  bus 
band'.s  buttons.  A  pretty  notion,  indeed,  you  have  of  mar- 
ria;;e.  Ila  I  if  poor  women  only  knew  what  they  had  to  go 
t'  '   '      ^*''    ♦  ^vith  Itutt'V- -    '.'   !    ^10  tliiriir  and  another! 


398  ELOCUTION. 

They'd  never  tie  themselves  up  to  the  best  man  in  the  wcrld, 
I  'di  sure.  What  would  they  do,  Mr.  Caudle? — Why,  do 
much  better  without  you,  I  'm  certain. 

5.  And  it 's  my  belief,  after  all,  that  the  button  was  n't  off 
the  shirt;  it  's  my  belief  that  you  pulled  it  off,  that  you 
might  have  something  to  talk  about.  Oh,  you  're  aggravat- 
ing enough,  when  you  like,  for  any  thing  1  All  1  know  is, 
it  's  very  odd  that  the  button  should  be  off  the  shirt;  for 
I'm  sure  no  woman  's  a  greater  slave  to  her  husband's  but- 
tons than  I  am.     I  only  say  it  's  very  odd. 

6.  However,  there 's  one  comfort ;  it  can't  last  long,  i  di 
worn  to  death  with  your  temper,  and  shan't  trouble  you  a 
great  while.'  Ha,  you  may  laugh  1  And  I  dare  say  you 
would  laugh  I  I  'vo  no  doubt  of  it  1  That 's  your  love ;  that 's 
your  feeling!  I  know  that  I  'm  sinking  every- day,  though 
I  say  nothing  about  it.  And  when  I  'm  gone,  we  shall  see 
how  your  second  wife  will  look  alter  your  buttons  !  You  '11 
find  out  the  difference,  then.  Yes,  Caudle,  you  '11  think  of 
me,  then ;  for  then,  I  hope,  you  '11  never  have  a  blessed 
button  to  your  back.  Douglas  jerrold. 


CCXL— CHARGE  TO  THE  JURY. 

1.  Gentlemen  op  the  Jury  : — You  are  sworn  in  all  cases 
to  decide  according  to  the  evidence;  at  the  same  time,  if 
you  have  any  doubt,  you  are  bound  to  give  the  prisoner  the 
benefit  of  it.  Suppose  you  have  to  pronounce  on  the  guilt 
or  innocence  of  a  gentleman  accused  of  felony.  You  will 
naturally  doubt  whether  any  gentleman  would  commit  such 
offences ;  accordingly,  however  strong  may  be  the  testimony 
against  him,  you  will,  perhaps,  acquit  him.  The  evidence 
of  your  own  senses  is,  at  least,  as  credible  as  that  of  the 
witnesses;  if,  therefore,  your  eyesight  convince  you  that  the 
prisoner  is  a  well-dressed  person,  you  have  a  right  to  pre- 
sume his  respectability ;  and  it  is  for  you  to  say  whether  a 
respectable  person  would  be  likely  to  be  guilty  of  the  crimes 
imputed  to  him. 

2.  In  like  manner,  when  you  see  a  shabby-looking  fellow 


AMUSING.  899 

lu  the  dock,  charged,  for  example,  with  sheep  stealing,  the 
decision  rests  with  you,  first,  whether  or  not  that  individual 
is  a  ragainufl5n,  and,  secondly,  how  fur  it  is  probable  that 
a  man  of  that  description  would  steal  sheep.  Of  course,  a« 
has  been  before  said,  you  will  always  be  guided  by  the  eyi 
denco;  but,  then,  whether  the  evidence  is  trustworthy  or 
not.  is  a  matter  for  your  private  consideration.  You  may 
believe  it  if  you  choose,  or  you  may  disbelieve  it;  and 
whether,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  will  believe  it  or  dis- 
believe it  will  depend  on  the  constitution  of  your  minds. 

II.  If  your  minds  are  so  constituted  that  you  wish  to  find 
the  prisoner  guilty,  perhaps  you  will  believe  it ;  if  they 
happen  to  be  so  constituted  that  you  desire  to  find  him  not 
guilty,  why  then,  very  likely,  you  will  disbelieve  it.  You 
are  to  free  your  minds  from  all  passion  and  prejudice,  if 
you  can,  and,  in  that  case,  your  judgment  will  be  unbiased: 
but  if  you  can  not,  you  will  return  a  verdict  accordingly. 
Tt  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  for  you  to  consider  what  will  be 
the  efi"ect  of  your  verdict;  but  if  such  a  consideration  should 
occur  to  you,  and  you  can  not  help  attending  to  it,  that 
verdict  will  be  influenced  by  it  to  a  certain  extent. 

4.  You  are  probably  aware  that  when  you  retire,  you  will 
be  locked  up  until  you  contrive  to  agree.  You  may  arrive 
at  unanimity  by  fair  discussion,  or  by  some  of  you  starving 
out  the  others,  or  by  tossing  up;  and  your  conclusion,  by 
which  ever  of  these  processes  arrived  at,  will  bo  more  or  less 
in  accordance  with  your  oaths.  Your  verdict  may  be  right ; 
it  is  to  be  hoped  it  will :  it  may  bo  wrong ;  it  is  to  be  hopp^ 
it  will  not.  At  all  events,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  w;*^ 
come  to  some  conclusion  or  other ;  unless  it  should  so  haf 
pen  that  you  separate  without  coming  to  any.        punch. 


CCXIL— TRUTU  IN  PARE>TUESia 

I  RZjiLLT  take  it  very  kind — 
This  visit,  Mrs.  Skinner; 

I  have  not  seen  you  such  an  age — 
(Tho  wrntch  has  come  to  illnnor!) 


400  ELOCUTION. 

Yt)ur  daughters,  too — what  loves  of  girls — 
What  heads  for  painters'  easels  I 

Come  here,  and  kiss  the  infant,  dears — 
(And  give  it,  p'rhaps,  the  measles!) 

2.  Your  charming  boys,  I  sec,  are  home, 

From  Reverend  Mr.  Russell's; 
'T  was  very  kind  to  bring  them  both — 

(What  boots  for  my  new  Brussels!) 
What!  little  Clara  left  at  home? 
•  Well,  now,  I  call  that  shabby ! 

I  should  have  loved  to  kiss  her  so — 

(A  flabby,  dabby  babby!) 

3.  And  Mr.  S.,  I  hope  he  's  well — 

But,  though  he  lives  so  handy. 
He  never  once  drops  in  to  sup — 

(The  better  for  our  brandy!) 
Come,  take  a  seat — I  long  to  hear 

About  Matilda's  mtirriage; 
You  've  come,  of  course,  to  spend  the  day-^ 

(Thank  Ileavenl  I  hear  the  carriage!) 

4.  What!  must  you  go? — next  time,  I  hope, 

You  '11  give  me  longer  measure. 
Nay,  I  shall  see  you  down  the  stairs — 

(With  most  uncommon  pleasure !) 
Good  bye  I  good  bye  !     Remember,  all, 

Next  time  you  '11  take  your  dinners — 
(Now,  David,  mind — I  'm  not  at  home, 

In  future,  to  the  Skinners.)  hood 


CCXIII.— THE  MODERN  BELLE. 

The  daughter  sits  in  the  parlor. 

And  rocks  on  her  .easy-chair, 
She  is  dressed  in  silks  and  satins. 

And  jewels  are  in  her  hair ; 
She  winks,  and  giggles,  and  simpers, 

And  simpers,  and  giggles,  and  winks : 
And  though  she  talks  but  little, 

It 's  vastly  more  than  she  thinks. 


AMUSING.  40 

2.  Her  father  goes  clad  in  russet — 

All  dirty  and  seedy  at  that: 
His  coat  is  out  at  the  elbows, 

And  he  wears  a  shccking  bad  hat. 
He  is  hoarding  and  saving  his  dollars. 

So  carefully,  day  by  day, 
While  she  on  her  whims  and  fancies 

Is  squandering  them  all  away. 

3.  She  lies  in  bed  of  a  morning 

Until  the  hour  of  noon, 
Then  comes  down,  snapping  and  snarling 

Because  she  's  called  too  soon. 
Her  hair  is  still  in  papers. 

Her  cheeks  still  dabbered  with  paint- 
Remains  of  last  night's  blushes 

Before  she  attempted  to  faint. 

4.  Her  feet  are  so  very  little, 

Her  hands  are  so  very  white, 
Her  jewels  so  very  heavy, 

And  her  head  so  very  light; 
Her  color  is  made  of  cosmetics — 

Though  this  she  'U  never  own  ; 
Her  body  is  mostly  cotton, 

And  her  heart  is  wholly  stone. 

5.  She  falls  in  love  with  a  fellow 

Who  swells  with  a  foreign  air ; 
He  marries  her  for  her  money, 

She  marries  him  for  his  hair. 
One  of  the  very  best  matches ; 

Both  are  well  mated  in  life ; 
She  's  got  a  fool  for  a  husband, 

And  he  's  got  a  fool  for  a  wife. 


CCXIV.— ORATOR  PUFP 


Mr.  Orator  Purr  had  two  tones  in  his  voice. 

The  one  squeaking  thus,  and  the  other  down  so; 
In  each  sentence  he  uttered  .he  gave  you  your  choice, 
For  one-half  was  B  alt,  and  the  rest  0  below, 
Oh  1  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 
Ono  Toioe  for  an  orator  'n  surely  enough. 
Kjdd  -34 


■iO'2  ELOCUTION. 

2.  Bat  lio  still  talked  away,  spito  of  coughs  and  of  frowns 
So  distracting  all  ears  with  his  ups  and  his  ''"^r"^ 
That  a  wag  once,  on  hearing  the  orator  say, 
"My  voice  is  for  war,"  asked  him,  "Which  oi  tnem  pia7  ?' 
Oh  !  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 

Our  ■  ■ 

8.  Reeling  homeward,  one  cvenin;;.  top-heavy  with  gin, 

And  rehearsing  his  speech  on  the  weight  of  the  crcwn, 
lie  tripped  near  a  saw-pit,  and  tumbled  right  in, 

"Sinkini:  futnl,"  the  last  words  as  his  noddle  came  down 
Oh:  or  Puff, 

One  .v,.v.  ...;•  ■"•  ..,-.. for 's  surely  enough. 

4    "Ohl  save'"  ^^^  ^-^  i,  iu  his  he-and-she-tones, 

"Help  ni<  out  I — I  have  broken  my,  bones  1" 

"  IIolp  you  oin ;  '  .sum  a  Padl  ■    "  '      passed,  "what  a  botherl 
V\\y,  til. TO  's  two  of  you  thci  you  help  one  another?" 

Oh  1  oh !  Orator  Puff, 

One  voice  for  an  orator  's  surely  enough. 

THOS.    MOORB. 


CCXV.— NOBODY'S  SONG. 

1.  I  'm  thinking  just  now  of  Nobody, 

And  all  that  Nobody  's  done, 
For  I  *ve  a  passion  for  Nobody, 

That  Nobody  else  would  own ; 
I  bear  the  name  of  Nobody, 

For  from  Nobody  I  sprung; 
And  I  sing  the  praise  of  Nobody, 

As  Nobody  mine  has  sung. 

2.  In  life's  morning  Nobody 

To  me  was  tender  and  dear ; 
And  my  cradle  was  rocked  by  Nobody, 

And  Nobody  was  ever  near: 
I  was  petted  and  praised  by  Nobody, 

And  Nobody  brought  me  up ; 
And  when  I  was  hungry,  Nobody 

Gave  me  to  dine  or  to  sup. 

3.  I  went  to  school  to  Nobody, 

And  Nobody  taught  me  to  read ; 


AMUSING. 

I  played  in  the  street  with  Nobody, 
And  to  Nobody  ever  gave  heed; 

I  recounted  my  tnle  to  Nobody, 
For  Nobody  was  willing  to  hear; 

And  my  heart  it  clung  to  Nobody, 
And  Nobody  shed  a  tear. 

4.  And  when  I  grew  older,  Nobody 

Gave  me  a  helping  turn ; 
And  by  the  good  aid  of  Nobody 

I  began  my  living  to  earn: 
And  hence  I  courted  Nobody, 

And  said  Nobody's  I  'd  be, 
And  asked  to  marry  Nobody, 

And  Nobody  married  me. 

6.  Thus  I  trudge  along  with  Nobc#y, 

And  Nobody  cheers  my  life; 
And  I  have  a  love  for  Nobody 

Which  Nobody  has  for  his  wife. 
So  here  's  a  health  to  Nobody, 

For  Nobody  's  now  in  town, 
And  I  've  a  passion  for  Nobody, 

That  Nobody  else  would  own. 


CCXVI.— COQUETTE  TUNISHED. 

1.  Ellen  was  fair,  and  knew  it,  too. 
As  other  village  beauties  do, 
Whose  mirrors  never  lie ; 
Secure  of  any  swain  she  chose, 
She  smiled  on  half  a  dozen  beaux. 
And,  reckless  of  a  lover's  woes, 
She  cheated  these,  and  taunted  those; 
"For  how  could  any  one  suppose 
A  clown  could  take  her  eye?" 

2    But  whispers  through  the  village  ran. 
That  Edgar  was  the  happy  man, 
The  maid  designed  to  bless; 
For,  wheresoever  moved  the  fair. 
The  youth  was,  like  her  shadow,  thert^ 
And  rumor  boldly  matched  the  pair, 
r       'llage  folks  will  guess. 


104  ELOCUTION. 

3.  Edgar  did  love,  bu^  ii«l 
To  make  confession  to  tlie  maid, 

So  bafshful  was  the  youth: 
Certain  to  meet  a  kind  return, 
lie  let  the  flame  in  secret  burn, 
Till  from  his  lips  the  maid  should  learn 

Officially  the  truth. 

4.  At  length,  one  mom,  to  take  the  air, 
Tlie  youth  and  maid,  in  one-horse  chair, 

A   ^mg  excursion  took. 

id  nerved  his  bashful  heart, 
ine  sweet  confession  to  impart. 
For,  ah  I  suspense  had  caused  a  smart. 

He  could  no  longer  brook. 

5.  He  dt^e,  nor  slackened  once  his  reins, 
Till  Hempstead's  wide  extended  plains 

Seemed  joined  to  skies  above: 
Nor  house,  nor  tree,  nor  slinib  was  near, 
The  rude  and  dreary  ^  heer, 

Nor  soul  within  ten  mi.^-  ; ir — 

And  still  poor  Edgar^s  silly  tear, 

Forbade  to  speak  of  love. 

§.  At  last,  one  desperate  effort  broke 
The  bashful  spell,  and  Edgar  spoke. 

With  most  persuasive  tone ; 
Recounted  past  attendance  o'er. 
And  then,  by  all  that 's  lovely,  swore, 
That  he  would  love,  forever  more. 

If  she  'd  become  his  own. 

7.  The  maid,  in  silence,  heard  his  prayer. 
Then,  with  a  most  provoking  air, 

She  tittered  in  his  face ; 
And  said,  *'  'T  is  time  for  you  to  know, 
A  lively  girl  must  have  a  beau, 
Just  like  a  reticule — for  show ; 
And  at  her  nod  to  come,  and  go — 

But  he  should  know  his  place. 

8.  Your  penetration  must  be  dull, 
To  let  a  hope  within  your  skull 

Of  matrimony  spring. 


AMUSING.  405 

Your  wife !  ha,  ha !  upon  my  word, 
The  thought  is  laughably  absurd, 
As  any  thing  I  ever  heard — 

I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

9   The  lover  sudden  dropped  his  rein. 
When  on  the  center  of  the  plain— 

"The  linch-pin  's  out!"  he  cried; 
"  Be  pleased  one  moment  to  alight. 
Till  I  can  set  the  matter  right, 

That  we  may  safely  ride." 

10.  lie  said,  and  handed  out  the  fair — 
Then  laughing,  cracked  his  whip  in  air. 
And  wheeling  round  his  horse  and  chair, 
Exclaimed,  "  Adieu,  I  leave  you  there 

In  solitude  to  roam."         • 
"  What  mean  you,  sir  I"  the  maiden  cried, 
"  Did  you  invite  me  out  to  ride, 
To  leave  me  here,  without  a  guide? 

Nay,  stop,  and  take  me  home." 

11.  "What  I  take  you  home  I"  exclaimed  the  boau, 
"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  'd  like  to  know 

IIow  such  a  hopeless  wish  could  grow. 

Or  in  your  bosom  spring. 
What!  take  Ellen  home?  ha  I  ha!  upon  my  wori, 
The  thought  is  laughably  absurd. 
As  any  thing  I  ever  heard; 

I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  1" 


CCXVIL— THE  LOST  PANTALOONS. 

1  It  chanced  to  be  our  washing  day, 
Ana  all  our  things  were  drying, 

The  storm  came  roaming  through  the  lines 

And  set  them  all  a-flying; 

I  SAW  the  shirta  and  petticoats 

Go  riding  off  like  witches, 

I  lost ah!  bitterly  I  wept, 

I  lost  my  Sunday  breeches. 

2  I  saw  them  straddling  through  the  air, 
Alasl  too  late  to  win  them, 


406  ELOCUTION. 

1  Haw  thein  chase  the  clouds  as  if 
The  mischief  had  been  in  them. 
They  were  my  darlings  and  my  pride, 
My  boyhood's  only  riches ; 
Farewell,  farewell,  I  faintly  cried, 
My  breeches,  0,  my  breeches. 

3.  That  night  I  saw  them  in  my  dreams, 
IIow  changed  from  what  I  knew  them ; 
The  dew  had  steeped  their  faded  seams, 
The  wind  had  whistled  through  them ; 

I  saw  the  wide  and  ghastly  rents 
Where  demon  claws  had  torn  tliem: 
A  hole  was  in  their  hinder  parts 
As  if  an  imp  had  worn  them. 

4.  I  hope  had  many  happy  years 
And  tailors  kind  and  clever; 

But  those  young  pantaloons  have  gone 

Forever  and  forever; 

And  not  till  fate  has  cut  the  last 

Of  all  my  earthly  stitches. 

This  aching  heart  shall  cease  to  mourn 

My  loved — my  long  lost  breeches. 


CCXVIII.— STUMP  SPEECH. 

1.  Fellow  Citizens: — I  am,  as  you  all  know,  a  modest 
and  unassuming  man.  I  was  born  at  an  early  period  of 
my  existence,  in  old  Franklin  County,  and  until  I  was  nearly 
fourteen  years  of  age,  was  entirely  withotft  parentage. 

2.  I  had  to  struggle  with  obscurity,  to  which  an  unlucky 
star  had  confined  me,  until  I  was  enabled  to  rise  among  my 
fellow  citizens  like  a  bright  exaltation  of  the  morning ;  but 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  goodness  of  several  old  ladies, 
who  gave  me  an  edication,  I  might  have  been  as  ignorant 
as  common  people,  or,  even  as  you,  fellow  citizens. 

3.  Friends  and  fellow  citizens !  although  I  do  not  feel 
exactly  tantamount  to  equivalent  to  addressing  you  on  the 
momentous  questions  now  agitating  this  conflictuous  com- 
munity, yet  I  intend  to  speak  my  sentiments  fearlessly,  in 


AMUSING.  407 

the  course  of  my  remarks  upon  what  I  shall  allude  to, 
while  I  am  discoursing  before  you ;  and  I  now  declare  that 
the  crisis  which  were  to  have  arriven  have  arroven. 

4.  I  tell  you  this  question  ought  to  be  severed  down  upon 
the  heads  of  the  people.  We  want  the  blood  and  spirit  of 
our  ancestral  progenitors,  who  were  not  afraid  to  run  th« 
gauntelope  of  public  opinion. 

5.  The  wheels  of  government  are  stopped ;  the  majestic 
ship  of  state  which,  like  a  Shanghai  rooster  on  a  rickety 
hen  coop,  was  floating  calmly  down  the  peaceful  stream  of 
time,  is  now  fast  drifting  upon  the  rocks  and  quick  sands 
of  disunion,  soon  to  be  dashed  into  a  thousand  flinters, 
unless  you  jump  into  the  rescue,  and  avoid  the  terrible 
calamity  by  electing  me  to  Congress. 

6.  Fellow  citizens!  I  entreat  and  beseeCh  of  you,  hearken 
not  to  the  siren  voice  that  whispers  in  your  credulous  ears 
the  delusive  sounds  of  peace  and  harmony;  for  in  our  leg- 
islative halls,  confusion,  riot,  and  anarchy  reign  supreme. 
Then,  arouse  you;  shake  the  dew  drops  from  your  hunting 
shirts ;  sound  the  tocsin ;  beat  the  drum,  and  blow  the  horn 
until  the  startled  echoes,  reverberating  from  hill  top  to  hill 
top,  shall  cause  the  adamantine  mountains  of  New  England, 
the  ferruginous  soil  of  Missouri,  and  the  auriferous  particles 
of  California  to  prick  up  their  ears,  and  inquire  of  their 
neighbors,  what  can  the  matter  be? 

7.  Fellow  citizens;  I  repeat  it.  To  your  posts!  and,  from 
the  topmost  mountains  of  the  Alleghanics  bid  defiance  to 
the  universal  airth,  by  shouting  our  terrific  watchword, 
[lail  Columbia,  in  such  thunder  tones,  that  the  enemies  of 
wur  country  shall  be  utterly  scatterlophisticated  before  the 
morDing  sun  reaches  to  the  full  zenith  of  his  meridian  bight 


CCXIX.— PARODY  ON  HAMLETS  SOLILOQUY. 

To  spout,  or  not  to  spout,  that  is  the  question ; 
Whether  't  is  better  for  a  shame-faced  fellow, 
With  voice  unmusical  and  gesture  awkward, 
To  stand  a  mere  spectator  in  this  business. 
Or  have  a  touch  of  rhetoric  ?     To  speak— to  spout, 
No  more :  and  by  this  eflbrt,  to  say  wo  end 


408  ELOCUTION. 

Thut  boshfulncss,  that  nervous  trepidation, 

Displayed  in  maiden  speeches — 't  were  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  read— to  speechify 

Before  folks — perhaps  to  fail ! — ay,  there  ^s  the  rub ; 

For  from  that  ill  success  what  sneers  may  rise, 

Ere  we  have  scrambled  through  the  sad  oration, 

Must  give  us  pause.     'T  is  the  same  reason, 

That  makes  a  novice  stand  in  hesitation, 

And  gladly  hide  his  own  diminished  head 

Beneath  some  half-fledged  orator's  importance, 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

By  a  mere  recitation.     Who  would  speeches  hear 

Responded  to,  with  hearty  acclamation. 

And  yet  restrain  himself  from  holding  forth. 

But  for  the  dread  of  some  unlucky  failure — 

Some  unforseen  mistake — some  frightful  blunder — 

Some  vile  pronunciation  and  inflection. 

Improper  emphasis  or  wry-necked  period. 

Which  carping  critics  note  and  raise  the  laugh, 

Not  to  our  credit,  nor  so  soon  forgot? 

We  muse  on  this  1     Then  starts  the  pithy  question, 

Had  we  not  best  be  mute  and  hide  our  faults. 

Than  spout  to  publish  them  ? 


CCXX.— CHARGE  OF  A  DUTCH  MAGISTRATE. 

1  Mr.  Foreman  and  Toder  Jurymens:  —  Hans  peen 
dntd  for  murder  pefore  you,  and  you  must  pring  in  te 
verdict;  put  it  must  pe  'cordin'  to  law. 

2.  De  man  he  kill'd  vash  n't  kill'd  at  all,  as  vas  broved ; 
he  is  in  ter  chail,  at  Morristown,  for  sheep  stealing.  Put 
dat  ish  no  matter;  te  law  says  ven  ter  ish  a  doubt  you 
give  him  to  ter  brisoner ;  put  here  ter  ish  no  doubt,  zo  you 
see  ter  brisoner  ish  guilty. 

3.  Pesides,  he  ish  a  great  loafer,  I  have  known  him  fifty 
years,  and  he  has  not  done  any  work  in  all  dat  times;  and 
dere  is  no  one  depending  upon  him  for  dere  living,  for  he 
ish  no  use  to  nopody. 

4.  I  dinks,  derfore,  Mr.  Foreman,  he  petter  pe  hung  next 
Fourth  of  July,  as  der  militia  is  going  to  drain  in  anoder 
county,  and  dere  will  be  noting  going  on  here. 


AMUSING.  409 

CCXXI.— THE  NANTUCKET  SKIPPER. 

]    Manv  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  though  "  lying  low," 

How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

2.  They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 

And  then  by  sounding,  through  the  night, 
Knowing  the  soil  that  stuck  so  well, 
They  always  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

3.  A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim. 

Could  tell,  by  tasting,  just  the  spot. 
And  so  below  he  'd  "  douse  the  glim  " — 
After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hot." 

4.  Snug  in  his  berth,  at  eight  o'clock. 

This  ancient  skipper  might  be  found ; 
No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock, 
lie  slept — for  skippers'  naps  are  sound. 

5.  The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 

Kun  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead; 
He  'd  up,  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

6.  One  night,  't  was  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 

A  curious  wag — the  pedlar's  son ; 
And  so  he  mused,  (the  wanton  wretch  1) 
'*  To-night  I  '11  have  a  grain  of  fun. 

7.  "  We  're  all  a  set  of  stupid  fools. 

To  think  the  skipper  knows,  by  tasting, 
What  ground  he  'b  on ;  Nantucket  schools 

Do  n't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  basting!" 

8.  And  80  he  took  the  well-gre|Med  lead, 

And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 
That  stood  on  deck — (a  parsnep-bed,) 
And  then  he  sought  the  skipper's  berth. 

9.  "Where  arei||6  now,  sir?    Please  to  taate," 

The  skipper  yawned,  put  out  his  tongue, 
And  oped  his  eyes  iu  wondrous  haste, 
Aud  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung  I 
KiDu.  — i{5 


110  ELOCUTION. 

IG.  The  skipper  stonned,  and  tore  his  hair, 

Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Harden, 
"Nanincket  's  sunk,  and  here  we  are. 
Right  over  old  Marm  Ilackett's  garden  \" 

J.   T.    FIBLI 


€CXXn.— THE  FROG. 


1.  Of  all  the  funny  things  that  liv# 

In  woodland,  marsh,  or  bog. 
That  creep  the  ground,  or  fly  the  air, 

The  funniest  is  the  fVog. 
The  frog — the  scientifickest 

Of  Nature's  handiwork — 
The  frog,  that  neither  walks  nor  runs, 

But  goes  it  with  a  jerk. 

2.  With  pants  and  coat  of  bottle  green. 

And  yellow  fancy  vest, 
lie  plunges  into  mud  and  mire. 

All  in  his  Sunday  best. 
He  has  his  trials  by  the  lump. 

Yet  holds  himself  quite  cool ; 
For  when  they  come,  he  gives  a  jump, 

And  drowns  'em  in  the  pool. 

3.  There  I  see  him  sitting  on  that  log, 

Above  the  dirty  deep; 
You  feel  inclined  to  say,  "Old  chap, 

Just  look  before  you  leap  I" 
You  raise  your  cane  to  hit  him,  on 

Ilis  ugly-looking  mug; 
But,  ere  you  get  it  half  way  up, 

Adown  he  goes,  ker  chug. 


CCXXm.— PARODY  ON  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORlt 

1.  Not  a  sous  had  he  got, — not  a  guinea  or  note, 

And  he  looked  confoundedly  flurried, 
As  he  bolted  away  without  paying  his  shot. 
And  the  landlady  after  him  hurried. 

2.  We  saw  him  again  at  dead  of  night. 

When  home  from  the  club  returning; 


r 

I 


AMUSINO.  411 

We  twigged  the  doctor  beneath  the  light 
Of  the  gas-lamp  brilliantly  burning. 

8.  All  bare,  and  exposed  to  the  midnight  dews, 
Reclined  in  the  gutter  we  found  him ; 
And  he  looked  like  a  gentleman  taking  a  snooze 
AVith  his  Marshall  cloak  around  him. 

4.  "  The  doctor  'b  as  drunk  as  he  can  be,"  we  said. 

And  we  managed  a  shutter  to  borrow  ; 
We  raised  him,  and  sighed  at  the  thought  that  his  head 
Would  "  consumedly  ache "  on  the  morrow. 

5.  We  carried  him  home,  and  put  him  to  bed, 

And  we  told  his  wife  and  his  daughter 
To  give  him,  next  morning,  a  couple  of  red 
Herrings,  with  iced  soda-water, 

0.  Loudly  they  talked  of  his  money  that 's  gone, 
And  his  lady  began  to  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he  recked,  so  they  let  him  snore  on 
'Neath  the  counterpane  just  as  we  laid  him. 

7.  We  tucked  him  in,  and  had  hardly  done, 

AVhen,  beneath  the  window  calling, 
We  heard  the  rough  voice  of  a  son  of  a  gun 
Of  a  watchman,  **  One  o'clock !"  bawling. 

8.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  all  walked  down 

From  his  room  in  the  uppermost  story ; 
A  rush-light  we  placed  on  the  cold  hearth-stone. 
And  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory  I 

INGOLDSBT   LEGENDS. 


CCXXIV.— TllJ::  HYi'UCIIU.NDillAC. 

1.  Good  morning,  Doctor;  how  do  you  do?  I  haint 
(|uito  so  well  as  I  have  been;  but  I  think  I'm  some  bettor 
than  I  was.  I 'do  n't  think  that  last  medicine  you  gin  mo 
did  me  much  good.  1  had  a  terrible  time  with  the  car  ache 
last  night  J  my  wife  got  up  and  drapt  a  few  draps  of  Wal 
nut  sap  into  it,  and  that  relieved  it  some ;  but  I  did  n't  get 
a  wink  of  sleep  till  nearly  daylight.  For  nearly  a  week, 
l>'>  •  had  the  worst  kind  of  a  narvoua  h«ikd-»<jhe; 


412  ELOCUTioy. 

it  has  been  so  bad  sometimes  tliat  I  thought  my  head  would 
bust  open.  Oh,  dear!  I  sometimes  think  that  I'm  the 
most  afllictcdest  human  that  ever  lived. 

2.  Since  this  cold  weather  sot  in,  that  troublesome  cough, 
that  I  have  had  every  winter  for  the  last  fifteen  year,  has 
began  to  pester  me  agin.  (^Coughs.)  Doctor,  do  you  think 
jou  can  give  me  any  thing  that  will  relieve  this  desprit  pain 
I  have  in  my  side? 

8.  Then  I  have  a  crick,  at  times,  in  the  hwik  of  my  neck, 
so  that  I  can't  turn  my  head  without  turning  the  hull  of 
my  body.     (^Coughs.) 

4.  Oh  dear !  What  shall  I  do !  I  have  consulted  almost 
every  doctor  in  the  county,  but  they  do  n't  any  of  them 
seem  to  understand  my  case.  I  have  tried  every  thing  that 
I  could  think  of;  but  I  can't  find  any  thing  that  does  me 
the  leastest  good.     (^Coughs.) 

5.  Oh  this  cough — it  will  be  the  death  of  me  yet !  You 
know  I  had  my  right  hip  put  out  last  fall  at  the  raising  of 
Deacon  Jones'  saw  mill ;  its  getting  to  be  very  troublesome 
just  before  we  have  a  change  of  weather.  Then  I  've  got 
the  sciatica  in  my  right  knee,  and  sometimes  I  'ra  so  crip- 
pled up  that  I  can  hardly  crawl  round  in  any  fashion. 

6.  What  do  you  think  that  old  white  mare  of  ours  did 
irhile  I  was  out  plowing  last  week  ?  Why,  the  weacked  old 
critter,  she  kept  a  backing  and  backing,  on  till  she  back'd 
me  right  up  agin  the  colter,  and  knock'd  a  piece  of  skin 
off  my  shin  nearly  so  big.     (Coughs,) 

7.  But  I  had  a  worse  misfortune  than  that  the  other  day, 
Doctor.  You  see  it  was  washing-day — and  my  wife  wanted 
me  to  go  out  and  bring  in  a  little  stove-wood — you  know 
we  lost  our  help  lately,  and  my  wife  has  to  wash  and  tend 
to  every  thing  about  the  house  herself. 

8.  I  knew  it  would  n't  be  safe  for  me  to  go  out — as  it  was 
a  raining  at  the  time — but  I  thought  I  'd  risk  it  any  how. 
So  I  went  out,  pick'd  up  a  tew  chunks  of  stove-wood,  and 
"5iras  a  coming  up  the  steps  in  to  the  house,  when  my  feet 
slipp'd  from  under  me,  and  I  fell  down  as  sudden  as  if  I  'd 
been  shot.  Some  of  the  wood  lit  upon  my  face,  broke  down 
the  bridge  of  my  nose,  cut  my  upper  lip,  and  knock'd  out 


AMUSING.  413 

three  of  my  front  toeth.  I  suflfered  dreadfully  on  account 
of  it,  as  you  may  suppose,  and  my  face  airft  well  enough  yet 
to  make  me  tit  to  be  seen,  specially  by  the  women  folks 
{Ooitffhsi.)  Oh  dear!  But  that  aint  all,  Doctor,^! 've  got 
fifteen  corns  on  my  toes — and  I  'm  afeard  I  'm  a  going  to 
have  the  yellow  jaundice.     (^Coughs.) 


CCXXV.— BUZFUZ  VER8D8  PICKWICK. 

1  You  have  heard  from  my  learned  friend,  gentlemen  of 
the  jury,  that  this  is  an  action  for  a  breach  of  promise  of 
marriage,  in  which  the  damages  are  laid  at  fifteen  hundred 
pounds.  The  plaintiff,  gentlemen,  is  a  widow — yes,  gentle- 
men, a  widow.  The  late  Mr.  Bardell,  some  time  before  hi.s 
death,  became  the  father,  gentlemen,  of  a  little  boy.  With 
this  little  boy,  the  only  pledge  of  her  departed  exciseman, 
Mrs.  Bardell  shrunk  from  the  world,  and  courted  the  retire- 
ment and  tranquillity  of  Goswcll  street;  and  here  she  placed 
in  her  front  parlor  window  a  written  placard,  bearing  this 
inscription  :  "Apartments,  furnished,  for  a  single  gentleman. 
Inquire  within."  Mrs.  Bardell's  opinions  of  the  opposite 
sex,  gentlemen,  were  derived  from  a  long  contemplation  of 
the  inestimable  qualities  of  her  lost  husband.  She  had  no 
fear — she  had  no  distrust — all  was  confidence  and  reliance. 
''Mr.  Bardell,"  said  the  widow,  "was  a  man  of  honor, — 
Mr.  Bardell  was  a  man  of  his  word, — Mr.  Bardell  was  no 
deceiver, — Mr.  Bardell  was  once  a  single  gentleman  him- 
self; to  single  gentlemen  I  look  for  protection,  for  assist- 
ince,  for  comfort  and  consolation  ; — in  single  gentlemen  I 
shall  perpetually  see  some  thing  to  remind  me  of  what  Mr. 
Bardell  was,  when  he  first  won  my  young  and  untried 
affections;  to  a  single  gentleman,  then,  shall  my  lodgings 
be  let." 

2.  Actuated  by  this  beautiful  and  touching  impulse, 
(among  the  best  impulses  of  our  imperfect  nature,  gentle- 
men,) the  lonely  and  desolate  widow  dried  her  t^ars, 
furnished  her  first  floor,  caught  her  innocent  boy  :o  her 
maternal  bosom,  and  put  the  bill  up  in  her  parlor  Wtndow 


414  KLOCUTION. 

Did  it  remain  there  long?  No.  The  serpent  was  on  the 
watch;  the  train  was  laid;  the  mine  was  preparing;  the 
sapper  and  miner  was  at  work!  Before  the  bill  had  been 
in  the  parlor  window  three  days — three  days,  gentlemen — 
a  being,  erect  upon  two  legs,  and  bearing  all  the  outward 
semblance  of  a  man,  and  not  of  a  monster,  knocked  at  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Bardcll's  house.  He  inquired  within  ;  he  took 
the  lodgings ;  and  on  the  very  next  day,  he  entered  into 
possession  of  them.  This  man  was  Pickwick — Pickwick, 
the  defendant. 

3.  Of  this  man  I  will  say  little.  The  subject  presents 
but  few  attractions;  and  I,  gentlemen,  am  not  the  man,  nor 
are  you,  gentlemen,  the  men,  to  delight  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  revolting  heartlessness,  and  of  systematic  villainy. 
I  say  systematic  villainy,  gentlemen  ;  and  when  I  say  sys- 
tematic villainy,  let  me  tell  the  defendant,  Pickwick,  if  he 
be  in  court,  as  I  am  informed  he  is,  that  it  would  have  been 
more  decent  in  him,  more  becoming,  if  he  had  stopped  away. 
Let  me  tell  him,  further,  that  a  counsel,  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duty,  is  neither  to  be  intimidated,  nor  bullied,  nor  put 
down  ;  and  that  any  attempt  to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other 
will  recoil  on  the  head  of  the  attemptcr,  be  he  plaintiflf,  or 
be  he  defendant;  be  his  name  Pickwick,  or  Noakes,  or 
Stoakes,  or  Stiles,  or  Brown,  or  Thompson. 

4.  I  shall  show  you,  gentlemen,  that  for  two  years  Pick- 
wick continued  to  reside  constantly,  and  without  interruption 
or  intermission,  at  Mrs.  Bardcll's  house.  I  shall  show  you 
that  Mrs.  Bardell,  during  the  whole  of  that  time,  waited  on 
him,  attended  to  his  comforts,  cooked  his  meals,  looked  out 
his  linen  for  the  washerwoman  when  it  went  abroad,  darned, 
aired,  and  prepared  it  for  wear  when  it  came  homo ;  and,  in 
ihort,  enjoyed  his  fullest  trust  and  confidence.  I  shall  show 
you  that  on  many  occasions  he  gave  half-pence,  and  on  some 
occasions  even  sixpence,  to  her  little  boy.  I  shall  prove  to 
you  that  on  one  occasion,  when  he  returned  from  the 
country,  he  distinctly  and  in  terms  offered  her  marriage ; 
previously,  however,  taking  special  care  that  there  should 
be  no  witnesses  to  their  solemn  contract.  And  I  am  in  a 
situation  to  prove  to  you,  on  the  testimony  of  three  of  his 


AMUSINU.  415 

own  friends — most  unwilling  witnesses,  gentlemen — most 
unwilling  witnesses — that  on  that  morning,  he  was  dis- 
ojvered  by  thom  holding  the  plaintiff*  in  his  arms,  and 
aoothing  her  agitation  by  his  caressess  and  endearments. 

5.  And  now,  gentlemen,  but  one  word  more.  Two  letters 
have  passed  between  these  parties — letters  that  must  be 
Tiewed  with  a  cautious  and  suspicious  eye — letters  that  were 
avidently  intended,  at  the  time,  by  Pickwick,  to  mislead  and 
delude  any  third  parties  into  whose  hands  they  might  fall, 
l^ct  me  read  the  first: — "  Garraway's,  twelve  o'clock. — Dear 
Mrs.  B. :  Chops  and  tomato  sauce.  Yours,  Pickwick." 
<Ientlemen,  what  does  this  mean?  Chops  and  tomato  sauce! 
Vtnirs.  Pickwick  I  Chops  ! — gracious  fathers  I — and  tomato 
sauce!  Gentlemen,  is  the  happiness  of  a  sensitive  and  con- 
fiding female  to  be  trifled  away  by  such  shallow  artifices  as 
these?  The  next  has  no  date  whatever,  which  is  in  itself 
suspicious.  "  Dear  Mrs.  B. :  I  shall  not  be  at  home  to- 
morrow. Slow  coach."  And  then  follows  this  very  remark- 
able expression — "  Do  n't  trouble  yourself  about  the  warm- 
ing-pan." The  warming -jmn!  Why,  gentlemen,  who  does 
trouble  himself  about  a  warming-pan  ?  Why  is  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell  so  earnestly  entreated  not  to  agitate  herself  about  this 
warming-pan,  unless  (as  is  no  doubt  the  case)  it  is  a  mere 
cover  for  hidden  fire — a  mere  substitute  for  some  endearing 
word  or  promise,  agreeably  to  a  preconcerted  system  of 
correspondence,  artfully  contrived  by  Pickwick  with  a  view 
to  his  contemplated  desertion  ?  And  what  does  this  allusion 
to  the  slow  coach  mean?  For  aught  I  know  it  may  be  a 
reference  to  Pickwick  himself,  who  has  most  unquest  onably 
been  a  criminally  slow  coach  during  the  whole  of  this  trans- 
action, but  whoso  speed  will  be  now  very  unexpectedly 
accelerated,  and  whoso  wheels,  gentlemen,  as  he  will  find 
k  bis  cost,  will  very  soon  be  greased  by  you. 

fi.  But  enough  of  this,  gentlemen.  It  is  diflScult  to  smile 
with  on  aching  heart.  My  client's  hope?  and  prospects  are 
ruined ;  and  it  is  no  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  her  "  occu- 
pation is  gone  "  indeed.  The  bill  is  down  ;  but  there  is  no 
tenant.  Eligible  single  gentlemen  pass  and  fepass:  but 
tk'^rc  is  no  invitation   for  thrm  to  inquire  within  or  withouL 


416  ELOCUTION, 

All  is  gloom  and  silence  in  the  house:  even  the  voice  of 
the  child  is  hushed ;  his  infant  sports  are  disregarded,  when 
his  mother  weeps.  But  Pickwick,  gentlemen — Pickwick, 
the  ruthless  destroyer  of  this  domestic  oasis  in  the  desert 
of  Goswell  street — Pickwick,  who  has  choked  up  the  well, 
tnd  thrown  ashes  on  the  sward — Pickwick,  who  comes  before 
you  to-day  with  his  heartless  tomato  sauce  and  warming- 
pan4 — Pickwick  still  rears  his  head  with  unblushing  effront- 
ery, and  gazes  without  a  sigh  on  the  ruin  he  has  made  1 
Damages,  gentlemen,  heavy  damages,  is  the  only  punish- 
ment with  which  you  can  visit  him — the  only  recompense 
you  can  award  to  my  client.  And  for  those  damages  she 
now  appeals  to  an  enlightened,  a  high  minded,  a  right- 
feeling,  a  conscientious,  a  dispassionate,  a  sympathizing,  a 
contemplative  jury  of  her  civilized  countrymen  I 

CHARLES   DICKENS. 


CCXXVL— SOCRATES  SNOOKS. 

1.  Mister  Socrates  Snooks,  a  lord  of  creation, 
The  second  time  entered  the  married  relation: 
Xantippe  Caloric  accepted  his  baud, 

And  tbey  thought  him  the  happiest  man  in  the  land. 

But  scarce  had  the  honeymoon  passed  o'er  his  head, 

When,  one  morning,  to  Xantippe,  Socrates  said, 

*•  I  think,  for  a  man  of  my  standing  in  life, 

This  house  is  too  small,  as  I  now  have  a  wife: 

So,  as  early  as  possible,  carpenter  Carey 

Shall  be  sent  for  to  widen  my  house  and  my  dairy. 

2.  "Now,  Socrates,  dearest,"  Xantippe  replied, 
"  I  hate  to  hear  every"  thing  vulgarly  mifd ; 
Now,  whenever  you  speak  of  your  chattels  again, 
Say,  our  cow  house,  our  barn  yard,  our  pig  pen." 
"By  your  leave,  Mrs.  Snooks,  I  will  say  what  I  please 
Of  my  houses,  my  lands,  viy  gardens,  my  trees." 
"Say  Our"  Xantippe  exclaimed  in  a  rage. 

**1  won't,  Mrs.  Snooks,  though  you  ask  it  an  age  I" 

3.  Oh,  woman !  though  only  a  part  of  man^s  rib. 
If  the  story  in  Genesis  do  n't  tell  a  fib. 


AMUSING.  in 

Should  your  naughty  companion  e'er  quarrel  with  you, 
You  are  certain  to  prove  the  best  man  of  the  twa 
la  the  following  case  this  was  certainly  true ; 
For  the  lovely  Xantippo  just  pulled  off  her  shoo, 
And  laying  about  her,  all  sides  at  random, 
The  adage  was  verified — "  Nil  desperandum." 

4.  Mister  Socrates  Snooks,  after  trying  in  vwn, 
To  ward  off  the  blows  which  descended  like  rain, — 
Concluding  that  valor's  best  part  was  discretion — 
Crept  under  the  bed  like  a  terrified  Hessian : 

But  the  dauntless  Xantippe,  not  one  whit  afraid, 
Converted  the  siege  into  a  blockade. 

5.  At  last,  after  reasoning  the  thing  in  his  pate. 
He  concluded  't  was  useless  to  strive  against  fate  ; 
And  so,  like  a  tortoise  protruding  his  head, 

Said,  "  My  dear,  may  we  come  out  from  under  our  bed  ?" 
*'  Hah !  hah  1"  she  exclaimed,  "  Mr.  Socrates  Snooks, 
I  perceive  you  agree  to  ray  terms,  by  your  looks: 
Now,  Socrates, — hear  me, — from  this  happy  hour, 
If  you  '11  only  obey  me,  I  'W  never  look  sour." 
'T  is  said  the  next  Sabbath,  ere  going  to  church. 
He  chanced  for  a  clean  pair  of  trowsers  to  search : 
Having  found  them,  he  asked,  with  a  few  nervous  twitches, 
"My  dear,  may  we  put  on  our  new  Sunday  breeches?" 


CCXXVn.— VARIETIES. 

1.— HUSBAND   VERSUS   WIFE. 

Abei,  McAdam — may  his  tribe  increase — 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace. 
And  saw,  within  the  gas-light  of  his  room, 
A  female  spirit  (dressed  up  a  la  Bloom- 
Er,)  writing  some  thing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  drink  had  made  McAdam  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"What  writest,  dear?"    The  spirit  raised  u    !.    .i. 
And  with  a  voice  like  that  of  cooing  dove, 
Murmured,  "The  names  of  men  whom  women  love." 
"And  is  mine  one?"  asked  Abel.     "No,  sir-ee," 
i;,..,ri..,i  ti...  «j>irit.     At">i  ••..•"•.'■I  with  glee, 


nS  ELOCUTION. 

Then  coolly  said,  **  Sweet  sprite,  write  me  as  one 
Who  ne'er  finds  fault  with  what  a  woman  's  done." 
The  Bloomer  wrote  and  vanished ;  but  the  next  night 
It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light, 
And  sliowcd  the  names  by  love  of  woman  blessed; 
When,  lo!  McAdam's  name  led  all  the  restl 

2. — WHY    DiaOEST   THOU? 

"Oi.D  man,  for  whom  diggest  thou  this  graTef 

I  asked  as  I  walked  along; 
For  I  saw  in  the  heart  of  London  streets 

A  dark  and  busy  throng. 
'T  was  a  strange,  wild  deed,  but  a  wilder  wish 

Of  the  parted  soul,  to  lie, 
'Mid  the  troubled  numbers  of  living  men 

Who  would  pass  him  idly  by. 
So  I  said,  "  For  whom  diggest  thou  this  grave. 

In  the  heart  of  London  town  ?" 
And  the  tleep-toned  voice  of  the  digj^or  replied— 

••  We  're  laying  a  gas-pipe  down." 

3. — THE   RETORT. 

1    Old  Birch,  who  taught  a  village  school, 
Wedded  a  maid  of  homespun  habit ; 
He  was  as  stubborn  as  a  mule. 
And  she  was  playful  as  a  rabbit 

'    2.  Poor  Kate  had  scarce  become  a  wife, 

Before  her  husband  sought  to  make  her 
The  pink  of  country  polished  life. 
And  prim  and  formal  as  l»  Quaker. 

3    One  day  the  tutor  went  abroad, 

And  simple  Kitty  sadly  missed  him  ; 
When  he  returned,  behind  her  lord 
She  slyly  stole,  and  fondly  kissed  him  I 

4.  The  husband's  anger  rose ! — and  red 
And  white  his  face  alternate  grew  I 
"  Less  freedom,  ma'am  !"     Kate  sighed  and  said, 
**0b,  dear!     I  did  n't  know  'twas  you  I" 

G.    P.    MORRIS. 


AMD8ING.  419 

CCXXVra.— FUSS  AT  FIRES. 

1.  It  having  been  announced  to  me,  my  young  friends, 
thai  you  were  about  forming  a  fire-company,  I  have  called 
you  together  to  give  you  such  directions  as  long  experience 
in  a  first-quality  engine  company  qualifies  me  to  communi- 
cate. The  moment  you  hear  an  alarm  of  fire,  scream  like 
a  pair  of  panthers.  Kun  any  way,  except  the  right  way — 
for  the  furthest  way  round  is  the  nearest  way  to  the  fire. 
If  you  happen  to  run  on  the  top  of  a  wood-pile,  so  much 
the  better ;  you  can  then  get  a  good  view  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. If  a  light  breaks  on  your  view,  "break"  for  it  im- 
mediately; but  be  sure  you  do  n't  jump  into  a  bow  window. 
Keep  yelling,  all  the  time;  and,  if  you  can't  make  night 
hideous  enough  yourself,  kick  all  the  dogs  you  come  across, 
and  set  them  yelling,  too.  A  brace  of  cats  dragged  up 
stairs  by  the  tail  would  be  a  "  powerful  auxiliary."  When 
you  reach  the  scene  of  the  fire,  do  all  you  can  to  convert 
it  into  a  scene  of  destruction.  Tear  down  all  the  fences  in 
the  vicinity.  If  it  be  a  chimney  on  fire,  throw  salt  down 
it;  or,  if  you  can  't  do  that,  perhaps  the  best  plan  would 
be  to  jerk  off  the  pump-handle  and  pound  it  down.  Don  't 
forget  to  yell,  all  the  while,  as  it  will  have  a  prodigious 
effect  in  frij.'htcning  oflf  the  fire.  The  louder  the  better,  of 
course ;  and  the  more  ladies  in  the  vicinity,  the  greater 
necessity  for  "  doing  it  brown." 

2.  Should  the  roof  begin  to  smoke,  get  to  work  in  good 
earnest,  and  make  any  man  ''smoke"  that  interrupts  you. 
If  it  is  summer,  and  there  are  fruit-trees  in  the  lot,  cut 
them  down,  to  prevent  the  fire  from  roasting  the  apples. 
Don  't  forget  to  yell !  Should  the  stable  be  threatened, 
carry  out  the  cow-chains.  Never  mind  the  horse — he  *11  be 
alive  and  kicking ;  and  if  his  legs  do  n't  do  their  duty,  let 
tlicm  pay  for  the  roast.  Ditto  as  to  the  hogs — let  them  save 
their  own  bacon,  or  smoke  for  it.  When  the  roof  begins 
to  burn,  get  a  crow-bar  and  pry  away  the  stone  steps  ;  or, 
if  the  steps  be  of  wood,  procure  an  axe  and  chop  them  up. 
Next,  cut  away  the  wash-boards  in  the  basement  story ;  and, 
if  tV'»    '  ■  •  ■♦  -♦  '-  *'  >  f^ -•    '.♦   ♦! '  ■:-  »-•••••.]-  on  the 


ELOCUTION. 

ur  fate.     Shoul 

ele- 

J  "even  tenor  ol  its  way, 

yoii  had 

420 


first  fit'  .1   si  mil; 

ment"  still  pursue  the 

better  ascend  to  the  Fcmnd  story.     Pitch  out  the  pitchers, 

and  tumble  out  \  ell  all  the  tinit; ! 

3.  If  you  find  u  uaoy  aitea,  niug  it  into  the  second  storj 
window  of  the  house  across  the  way ;  but  let  the  kitten 
carefully  down  in  a  work-basket.  Then  draw  out  the  bureaa 
drawers,  and  empty  their  contents  out  of  the  back  window; 
telling  some  body  below  to  upset  the  slop-barrel  and  rain- 
water  hogshead  at  the  same  time.  Of  course,  you  will  attend 
to  the  mirror.  The  further  it  can  be  thrown,  thb  more 
pieces  will  Ito  made.  If  any  body  objects,  smash  it  over 
his  head.  Do  not,  under  any  circumstances,  drop  the  tonga 
dowp  from  the  second  story :  the  fall  might  break  its  legs, 
and  render  the  poor  thing  a  cripple  for  life.  Set  it  strad- 
dle of  your  shoulders,  and  carry  it  down  carefully.  Pile 
the  bed-clothes  carefully  on  the  floor,  and  throw  the  crock- 
ery out  of  the  window.  By  the  time  you  will  have  attended 
to  all  these  things,  the  fire  will  certainly  be  arrested,  or  tbe 
building  be  burnt  down.     1;.  ase,  your  services  will 

be  no  longer  needed;  and,  ot  euurse,  you  require  no  further 
directions,  except  at  all  times  to  keep  up  a  yell. 


CCXXIX—PRAVINO  FOR  RAIN. 

1.  How  difficult,  alas!  to  please  mankind  I 

:    the  other  every  moment  mutters: 
:s  an  eastern,  that  a  western  wind; 
A  third,  petition  for  a  southern,  utters. 
Some  pray  for  rain,  and  some  for  frost  and  snow: 
IIow  can  Heaven  suit  all   palates? — I  don't  know. 

2.  Good  Lamb,  the  curate,  mueh  a]»pr.ived, 
Indeed  by  all  his  flock  beloved. 

Was  one  dry  summer  begged  to  pray  for  rain: 
The  parson  most  devoutly  prayed — 
The  powers  of  prayer  were  soon  displayed ; 

Immediately  a  torrent  drenched  the  plain. 

3.  It  chanced  that  the  church  warden,  Rohin  Jay, 
Had  of  his  meadow  not  yet  saved  the  hay: 


AMUSING.  4JI 

Thus  was  his  hay  to  health  quite  past  restoriug. 
It  happened  too  that  Robin  was  from  home ; 
But  when  he  heard  the  story,  in  a  foam 

lie  sought  the  parson,  like  a  lion  roaring. 

I    "Zounds!  Parson  Lamb,  why,  what  have  you  been  doing? 
A  pretty  storm,  indeed,  ye  have  been  brewing  1 

What!  pray  for  rain  before  I  saved  my  hay! 
Oh  !  you  *re  a  cruel  and  ungrateful  man  I 
I  that  forever  help  you  all  I  can  ; 

Ask  you  tor  dine  with  me  and  Mistress  Jay 
Whenever  we  have  some  thinj;  on  the  spit, 
Or  in  the  pot  a  nice  and  dainty  bit; 

5.  *'  Send  you  a  goose,  a  pair  of  chicken, 
Whose  bones  you  are  so  fond  of  picking ; 

And  often  too  a  keg  of  brandy  ! 
You  that  were  welcome  to  a  treat, 
To  smoke  and  chat,  and  drink  and  eat; 

Making  my  house  so  very  handy ! 

6.  "You,  parson,  serve  one  such  a  scurvy  trick! 
Zounds!  you  must  have  the  bowels  of  Old  Nick. 
What !  bring  the  flood  of  Noah  from  the  skies, 
With  my  fine  field  of  hay  before  your  feyes ! 

A  numskull,  that  I  wer'n't  of  this  aware. — 
Ilanj;  me,  but  I  had  stopped  your  pretty  prayer!" 
"Dear  Mister  Jay?"  quoth  Lamb,  "alas!  alas! 
I  never  thought  upon  your  field  of  grass." 

7.  "  Oh  !  parson,  you  're  a  fool,  one  might  suppose — 
Was  not  the  field  just  underneath  your  nose? 
This  is  a  very  pretty  losing  job !" — 

"  Sir,"  quoth  the  curate,  "  know  that  Harry  Cobb, 
Your  brother  warden,  joined  to  have  the  prayer." — 
"Cobb!  Cobb!  why  this  for  Cobb  wsvs  only  sport: 
What  doth  Cobb  own  that  any  rain  can  hurt?" 
Roared  furious  Jay  as  broad  as  he  could  stare. 

b     The  follow  owns,  aa  far  as  I  can  larn, 
A  few  old  houses  only,  and  a  barn; 
As  that's  the  case,  zounds!  what  are  showers  to  himt 
Nut  Noah's  flood  could  make  his  trumpery  swim. 
"  Hcsidcs — why  could  you  not  for  drizzle  pray? 
Why  force  '       ' 


422  ELOCUTION. 

Would  I  have  played  with  your  hay  siuli  a  freak? 
No!  I'd  have  stopped  the  weather  for  a  week." 

9.  "  Dear  Mister  Jay,  I  do  protest, 
I  acted  solely  for  the  best; 

I  do  affirm  it,  Mister  Jay,  indeed. 
Your  anger  for  this  once  restr:iiii. 
I'll  never  bring  a  drop  again 
Till  you  and  ".»>  ♦>"'  ••■••:'  i  " 


INDAR 


CCXXX.— THE  DAPPLE  MARE. 

1 .  "  O.vcB  on  a  time,"  as  ancient  tales  declare, 

There  lived  a  farmer  in  a  quiet  dell 
In  Massachusetts,  but  exactly  where, 

Or  when,  is  really  more  than  I  can  tell — 
Except  that,  quite  above  the  public  bounty, 
lie  lived  within  his  moans  and  Bristol  county. 

2.  By  patient  labor  and  unceasing  care. 

He  earned,  and  so  enjoyed,  his  daily  bread; 
Contented  always  with  his  frugal  fare. 

Ambition  to  be  rich  ne'er  vexed  his  head: 
And  thus  unknown  to  envy,  want,  or  wealth, 
lie  flourished  long  in  comfort,  peace  and  health. 

3.  The  gentle  partner  of  his  humble  lot. 

The  joy  and  jewel  of  his  wedded  life. 
Discharged  the  duties  of  his  peaceful  cot. 

Like  a  true  woman  and  a  faithful  wife ; 
Her  mind  improved  by  thought  and  useful  reading, 
Kind  words  and  gentle  manners  showed  her  breeding. 

4.  Grown  old  at  last,  the  farmer  called  his  son. 

The  youngest,  (and  the  favorite  I  suppose,) 
And  said — "I  long  have  thought,  my  darling  John, 

'T  is  time  to  bring  my  labors  to  a  close ; 
So  now  to  toil  I  mean  to  bid  adieu, 
And  deed,  my  son,  the  homestead  farm  to  you." 

5.  The  boy  embraced  the  boon  with  vast  delight, 

And  promised  while  their  precious  lives  remained. 
He  M  till  and  tend  the  farm  from  morn  till  night. 
And  see  his  parents  handsomely  maintained; 


AMUSING.  423 

Qod  help  him,  he  would  never  fail  to  love,  nor 
Do  aught  to  grieve  his  generous  old  gov'iior ! 

5   The  farmer  said — "  Well,  let  us  now  proceed, 
(You  know  tliere  's  always  danger  in  delay,) 
And  get  'Squire  Robinson  to  write  the  deed; 

Come — where  's  my  staff  7 — we  '11  soon  be  on  the  way." 
But  John  replied,  with  tender,  filial  care, 
"  You  're  old  and  weak — I  '11  catch  ^he  Dapple  Mare." 

7.  The  mare  was  saddled,  and  the  old  man  got  on. 

The  boy  on  foot  trudged  cheerfully  along, 
The  while,  to  cheer  his  sire,  the  duteous  son 

Beguiled  the  weary  way  with  talk  and  song. 
Arrived  at  length,  they  found  the  'Squire  at  home, 
And  quickly  told  him  wherefore  they  had  come. 

8.  The  deed  was  writ  in  proper  form  of  law. 

With  many  a  "foresaid,"  "therefore,"  and  "the 
And  made  throughout  without  mistake  or  flaw. 

To  show  that  John  had  now  a  legal  claim 
To  all  his  father's  laud— conveyed,  given,  sold, 
Quit-claimed,  et  cetera — to  have  and  hold, 

9.  Their  business  done,  they  left  the  lawyer's  door, 

Happier,  perhaps  tlian  when  they  eutered  there ; 
And  started  off  as  they  had  done  before — 

The  son  on  foot,  the  father  on  the  mara 
But  ere  the  twain  a  single  mile  had  gone, 
A  brilliant  thought  occurred  to  Master  John. 

10.  Alas  for  truili! — alas  for  filial  duty! — 

Alas  that  Satan  in  the  shape  of  pride, 
(Ilis  most  bewitching  form  save  that  of  beauty,) 

Whispered  the  lad — "  My  boy,  you  ought  to  ride !' 
"Get  off  I"  exclaimed  the  younker — "'t  is  n't  fair 
That  you  should  always  ride  the  Dapple  Mare  \" 

1 1 .  The  son  was  lusty,  and  the  sire  was  old, 

And  80,  with  many  an  oath  and  many  a  frown. 
The  hapless  farmer  did  as  he  was  told. 

The  man  got  off  the  steed,  the  boy  got  on« 
And  rode  away  as  fast  as  she  could  trot, 
And  left  his  sire  to  trudge  it  home  on  footl 


iJl  ELOCUTION. 

12.  That  night,  whUo  seated  round  the  kitchen  fire 
The  household  sat,  cheerful  as  if  no  word 
Or  deed,  provoked  the  injured  father's  ire, 

Or  aught  to  make  him  sad  had  e'er  occurred— 
Thus  spoke  he  to  hi«  son — "We  quite  forgot, 
I  think,  t'  include  that  little  turnip  lot!" 

13    '  I  'm  very  sure  my  son,  it  would  n't  hurt  it," 
Calmly  observed  the  meditative  sire, 
"To  take  the  deed,  my  lad,  and  just  insert  it:" 

Here  the  old  man  inserts  it — in  the  fire! 
Then  cries  aloud  witli  most  triumphant  air, 
"Who  now,  my  son,  shall  ride  the  Dapple  Mare?" 

JOHN    a.    SAXJL 


CCXXXI.— FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  TYPE. 

1.  "  Ah,  here  it  is!    I  'm  famous  now; 
An  author  and  a  poet. 

It  really  is  in  print.     Hurrah  I 
How  proud  I  '11  be  to  show  it. 
And  gentle  Anna!  what  a  thrill 
Will  animate  her  breast, 
To  read  these  ardent  lines,  and  know 
To  whom  they  are  addressed. 

2.  "  Why,  bless  my  soul !  here 's  some  thing  wrong; 
What  can  the  paper  mean, 

By  talking  of  the  *  graceful  brook,' 

That  ^ganders  o'er  the  green?' 

And  here 's  a  <  instead  of  r, 

Which  makes  it  'tippling  rill,' 

We  '11  seek  the  *  shad '  instead  of  *  shade,' 

And  *  hell '  instead  of  '  hill.' 

3.  "*Thy  looks  so'— what?— I  recollect, 
'T  was  '  sweet,'  and  then  't  was  '  kind ;' 
And  now,  to  think, — the  stupid  fool — 
For  'bland'  has  priqted  'blind,' 

Was  ever  such  provoking  work? 
('T  is  curious,  by  the  by. 
That  any  thing  is  rendered  blind 
By  giving  it  an  i.) 


AMUSING.  426 

4.  "  The  color  of  the  *  ro8e '  is  *  nose,' 
'Affection'  is  •affliction.' 
(I  wonder  if  the  likeness  holds 
In  fact  as  well  as  fiction?) 
•Th?u  art  a  friend.'     The  r  is  gone; 
"Whoever  would  have  deemed 
That  such  a  trifiing  thing  could  change 
A  friend  into  a  fiend. 

t.  "  '  Thou  art  the  same,'  is  rendered  '  lame,* 
It  really  is  too  bad  I 
And  here  because  an  t  is  out 
My  lovely  *  maid '  is  mad. 
They  drove  her  blind  by  poking  in 
An  t — a  process  new — 
And  now  they  've  gouged  it  out  again, 
And  made  her  crazy,  too. 

6.  "I'll  read  no  more.    What  shall  I  io? 
I  '11  never  dare  to  send  it 

The  paper's  scattered  far  and  wide, 

'T  is  now  too  late  to  mend  it. 

Oh,  fume !  thou  cheat  of  human  life, 

Why  did  I  ever  write? 

I  wish  my  poem  had  been  burnt. 

Before  it  saw  the  light. 

7.  "  Was  ever  such  a  horrid  hash, 
In  poetry  or  prose? 

I  've  said  she  was  a  '  fiend !'  and  praised 

The  color  of  her  *  nose.' 

I  wish  I  had  the  printer  here 

Alx)ut  a  half  a  minute, 

I  'd  bang  him  to  his  heart's  content. 

And  with  an  A  begin  it." 


CCXXXn.— LOVE   AND  PHYSia 

A  OLiriR  man  waa  Dr.  Digg, 

Misfortunes  well  he  bore ; 

lie  never  lost  his  patience  till 

IIo  had  no  patients  more ; 

>t.     ;:r, 


*26  BLOCUTION. 

And  though  his  practice  once  was  large, 

It  did  not  swell  his  gains, 
The  pains  he  labored  for  were  but 

The  labor  for  his  pains. 

2.  Though  **  art  is  long/'  his  cash  got  shori. 

And  well  might  Qalen  dread  it, 
For  who  will  trust  a  nanie  unknown 

When  merit  gets  no  credit? 
To  marry  seemed  the  only  way 

To  ease  his  mind  of  trouble ; 
Misfortunes  never  singly  come, 

And  misery  made  them  double. 

3.  He  had  a  patient,  rich  and  fair, 

That  hearts  by  scores  was  breaking, 
And  as  he  once  had  felt  her  wrist, 

lie  thought  her  hand  of  taking ; 
But  what  the  law  makes  strangers  do 

Did  strike  his  comprehension. 
Who  live  in  these  United  States, 

Do  first  declare  intention. 

4.  And  so  he  called — his  beating  heart 

With  anxious  fears  was  swelling — 
And  half  in  habit  took  her  band, 

And  on  her  tongue  was  dwelling : 
But  thrice,  though  he  es;»ayed  to  speak, 

lie  stopped,  and  stuck,  and  blundered, 
For  say  what  mortal  could  be  cool. 

Whose  pulse  was  'most  a  hundred? 

5.  "Madame,"  at  last  he  faltered  out— 
His  love  had  grown  courageous — 
"  I  have  discerned  a  new  complaint. 

I  hope  to  prove  contagious: 
And  when  the  symptoms  I  relate, 

And  show  its  diagnosis. 
All,  let  me  hope  from  those  dear  lips. 
Some  favorable  prognosis. 

6.  "This  done,"  he  cries,  "let's  tie  those  ties 
Which  none  but  death  can  sever. 
Since  *  like  cures  like,'  I  do  infer 
That  love  cures  love  forever." 


AMUSING..  42? 

lie  paused — she  blushed,  however  strange 

It  seems  on  first  perusal, 
Although  there  was  no  promise  made. 

She  gave  him  a  refusal. 

"I  can  not  marry  one  who  lives 

By  other  folks'  distresses — 
The  man  I  marry  1  must  love, 

Not  fear  his  fond  caresses ; 
For  who,  whatever  be  their  sex, 

However  strange  the  case  is, 
Would  like  to  have  a  doctor's  bill 

Stuck  up  into  their  faces  ?  " 

Perhaps  you  think,  'twixt  love  and  rage, 

lie  took  some  deadly  potion, 
Or  with  his  lancet  breathed  a  vein 

To  ease  his  pulse's  motion. 
To  guess  the  vent  of  his  despair, 

The  wisest  one  might  miss  it ; 
He  reached  his  office — then  and  there. 

lie  charged  her  for  the  visit ! 


CCXXXIIL— VARIETIES. 
1. — BALE   OP   OLD   BACHELORS. 

I  DREAMED  a  dream  in  the  midst  of  my  slumbers, 
And  as  fast  as  I  dreamed  it  was  coined  into  numbers — 
My  thoughts  ran  along  in  such  beautiful  meter, 
I  'm  sure  I  ne'er  saw  any  poetry  sweeter. 
It  seemed  that  a  law  had  been  recently  made 
That  a  tax  on  old  bachelors'  pates  should  be  laid ; 
And  in  order  to  make  them  all  willing  to  marry. 
The  tax  was  as  largo  as  a  man  could  well  carry. 
The  bachelors   grumbled,  and  said  't  were  no  use, 
'T  wiw  horrid  injustice  and  shameful  abuse; 
And  declared,  that  to  save  their  own  heart's  blood  from  spilTlni^ 
Of  such  a  vile  tax  they  would  ne'er  pay  a  shilling. 
But  the  rulers  determined  their  course  to  pursue, 
So  they  set  the  old  bachelors  up  at  vendue ; 
A  crier  was  sent  through  the  town  to  and  fro, 
To  rattle  his  bell  and  his  trumpet  to  blow ; 


428  ELOCUTION. 

And  t<^  ( :ill  out  to  all  he  mip;ht  meet  in  the  way, 

"  IIo  !  forty  old  bachelors  sold  here  to-day  ! " 

And  presently  all  the  old  maids  in  the  town, 

r  1  'i  one  in  her  very  best  bonnet  and  gown, 

1  r  i;ii  thirty  to  sixty,  fair,  plain,  red  and  pale. 

Of  every  description  all  flocked  to  the  sale. 

The  auctioneer  then  in  his  labors  began, 

And  called  out  aloud,  as  he  held  up  a  man, 

•*IIow  much  for  a  bachelor — who  wants       '     ^" 

lu  a  twink  every  maiden  responded,  "  1 

In  short,  at  a  hugely   extravagant  price. 

The  bachelors  all  were  sold  off  in  a  trice ; 

And  forty  old  maidens,  some  younger,  some  older. 

Each  lugged  an  old  bachelor  home  on  her  shoulder. 

2. — A   RECIPE. 
"  Just  take  enough  of  good  Scotch  snuff," 

Said  the  panion  to  his  hearer; 
"You  'V.  '.         iwake,  and  grace  partake, 

And  :  ith  come  nearer." 

Said  MiijLer  Smith,  "  Go  now  forthwith, 

My  dear  good  parson  Ilermon, 
And  take  enough  of  that  same  snuff 

And  put  it  in  your  sermon  V 

3. A   TALE    OP    WONDER. 

1    Now  the  laugh  shakes  the  hall,  and  the  ruddy  wine  flows ; 
Who,  who  is  so  merry  and  gay  ? 
Lemona  is  happy,  for  little  she  knows 
Of  the  monster  so  grim,  that  lay  hushed  in  repose. 
Expecting  his  evening  prey. 

2.  While  the  music  played  sweet,  and,  with  tripping  so  light, 

Bruno  danced  through  the  maze  of  the  hall ; 
Lemona  retired,  and  her  maidens  in  white, 
Led  her  up  to  her  chamber,  and  bid  her  good  night. 

Then  went  down  again  to  the  hall. 

3.  The  monster  of  blood  now  extended  his  claws, 

And  from  under  the  bed  did  he  creep ; 
With  blood  all  besmeared,  he  now  stretched  out  his  paws ; 
With  blood  all  besmeared,  he  now  strotrhod  out  his  jaws 

To  feed  on  the  angel  asleop. 


AMUSING.  42y 

1  lis  Heized  on  a  vein,  and  gave  such  a  bite, 
And  he  gave,  with  hia  fauga,  such  a  tu«; — 
She  shrieked  !     Bruno  ran  up  the  stairs  in  a  fright; 
The  guests  followed  after,  when  brought  to  the  light, 
"  Mercy  on  us  I "  they  cried,  "  what  a  bug  ! " 

4. — PARODY. 
J.  Oh,  ever  thus  since  childhood's  hour, 
We  've  seen  our  fondest  hopes  decay ; 
We  never  raised  a  calf,  or  cow,  or 
Hen  that  laid  an  egg  a  day. 
But  it  was  "marked"  and  took  away. 

2.  We  never  raised  a  sucking  pig, 
To  glad  us  with  its  sunny  eye, 
But  when  't  was  grown  up  fat  and  big. 
And  fit  to  roast,  or  broil,  or  fry — 
We  could  not  find  it  in  the  sty. 


CCXXXIV.— THE  OLD  HAT. 

1    I  HAD  a  hat — it  was  not  all  a  hat — 
Part  of  the  brim  was  gone — yet  still  I  wore 
It  on,  and  people  wondered,  as  I  passed; 
Some  turned  to  gaze — others,  just  cast  an  eye, 
And  soon  withdrew  it,  as  't  were  in  contempt. 
But  still,  my  hat,  although  so  fashiouless. 
In  complement  extern,  had  that  within. 
Surpassing  show — my  head  continued  warm. 
Being  sheltered  from  the  weather,  spite  of  all 
The  want  (as  has  been  said)  of  shading  brim. 

2.  A  change  came  o'er  the  color  of  my  hat 
That  which  was  black  grew  brown,  and  then  men  stared 
With  both  their  eyes,  (they  stared  with  one  before ;) 
The  wonder  now  was  twofold — and  it  seemed 
Strange,  that  things  so  t(jrn,  and  old,  should  still 
Be  worn,  by  one  who  might — but  let  that  passl 
I  had  my  reasons,  which  might  be  revealed. 
But  for  some  counter  reasons  far  more  strong. 
Which  tied  my  tongue  to  silence.     Time  passed  on. 
tireen  Kpring  and  flowery  summer,  autumn  brown, 


430  ELOCUTION. 

And  frosty  winter  came, — and  went,  and  come. — 

And  still,  through  all  the  seasons  of  two  years, 

In  park,  in  city,  yea,  in  routs  and  balls, 

The  hat  was  worn,  and  borne.     Then  folks  grew  wild 

With  curiosity — and  whispers  rose. 

And  questions  passed  about — how  one  so  trim 

In  coats,  boots,  pumps,  gloTcs,  trowsers,  could  ensconce 

His  caput  in  a  covering  so  vile. 

3.  A  change  came  o'er  the  nature  of  my  hat. 
Grease-spots  appeared;  but  still,  in  silence,  on 
I  wore  it;  and  then  family  and  friends 
Glared  madly  at  each  other.     There  was  one. 
Who  said — but  hold  I  no  matter  what  was  said, 
A  time  may  come  when  I — away,  away — 
Not  till  the  season  's  ripe,  can  I  reveal 
Thoughts  that  do  lie  too  deep  for  common  minds; 
Till  then,  the  world  shall  not  pluck  out  the  heart 
Of  this  my  mystery.     When  I  will — I  will ! 

The  hat  was  greasy  now,  and  old,  and  torn — 
But  torn,  old,  greasy,  still  I  wore  it  on. 

4.  A  change  came  o'er  the  business  of  this  hai 
^      Women,  and  men,  and  children  scowled  on  me ; 

My  company  was  shunned — I  was  alone — 
None  would  associate  with  such  a  hat — 
Friendship  itself  proved  faithless,  for  a  hat. 
She  that  I  loved,  within  whose  gentle  breast 
I  treasured  up  my  heart,  looked  cold  as  death : 
Love's  fires  went  out,  extinguished  by  a  hat. 
Of  those  that  knew  me  best,  some  turned  aside, 
And  scudded  down  dark  lanes — one  man  did  place 
His  finger  on  his  nose's  side,  and  jeered — 
Others,  in  horrid  mockery,  laughed  outright ; 
Yea,  dogs,  deceived  by  instinct's  dubious  ray. 
Fixing  their  swart  glai'C  on  my  ragged  hat. 
Mistook  me  for  a  beggar,  and  they  barked. 
Thus  women,  men,  friends,  strangers,  lover,  dogs  — 
One  thought  pervaded  all — it  was,  my  hat. 

5.  A  change — it  was  the  last — came  o'er  this  hat 
For  lo  I  at  length,  the  circling  months  went  round, . 
The  period  was  accomplished,  and  one  day 

This  tattered,  brown,  old  greasy  coverture, 
(Time  had  endeared  its  vileness,)  was  transferred 


AMUSING.  '131 

To  the  possession  of  a  wandering  son 

Of  Israel's  fated  race,  and  friends  once  more 

Greeted  my  digits  with  the  wonted  squeeze: 

Once  more  I  went  my  way  along,  along, 

And  plucked  no  wondering  gaze ;  the  hand  of  scorn. 

With  its  annoying  finger,  men  and  dogs. 

Once  more  grew  pointless,  jokeless,  laughless,  growlUw; 

And  last,  not  least,  of  rescued  blessings-;— love, 

Love  smiled  on  me  again,  when  I  assumed 

A  brand-new  beaver  of  the  Andre  mold ; 

And  then  the  laugh  was  mine,  for  then  came  out 

The  secret  of  this  strangeness— *t  was  a  beil 


CCXXXV.— THE  THREE  BLACK  CROWS. 

L  Two  honest  tradesmen  meeting  in  the  Strand, 
One  took  the  other  briskly  by  the  hand; 
"  Hark  ye,"  said  he,  "  't  is  an  odd  story  this. 
About  the  crows  I" — "  I  do  n't  know  what  it  is," 
Replied  his  friend.     "  No !  I  'm  surprised  at  that ; 
Where  I  come  from  it  is  the  common  chat: 
But  you  shall  hear :  an  odd  affair  indeed  1 
And  that  it  happened,  they  are  all  agreed ; 
Not  to  dctmn  you  from  a  thing  so  strange, 
A  gentleman,  that  lives  not  far  from  'Change, 
This  week,  in  short,  as  all  the  alley  knows, 
Taking  a  puke,  has  thrown  up  three  black  crows  " 

2.  "  Impossible  1" — "  Nay,  but  it 's  really  true, 
I  had  it  from  good  hands,  and  so  may  you." 
*'  From  whose,  I  pray  ?"     So,  having  named  the  man, 
Straight  to  inquire,  his  curious  comrade  ran. 
"  Sir,  did  you  tell  ?" — relating  the  affair — 
"Yes,  sir,  I  did  ;  and  if  it  's  worth  your  care. 
Ask  Mr.  Such-a-one,  he  told  it  me ; 
But,  by  tlie  by,  't  was  two  black  crows,  not  three." 

M.  Resolved  to  trace  so  wondrous  an  event. 
Whip  to  the  third,  the  virtuoso  went 
"  Sir," — and-so-forth — "  Why,  yes ;  the  thing  'a  a  f»o< 
Though,  in  regard  to  number,  not  exact; 
It  was  not  two  black  crows,  't  was  only  one; 
The  truth  of  that  you  may  depend  upon. 


43.^  ELOCUTION. 

The  j^entl''i!i;\n  hvn-'-lf  tol'l  mo  the  case. 
'^V  Why — in  «uch  a  place." 

'      \  •  s,  and,  having  found  him  out — 

>  ;  as  to  resolve  a  doubt." 

Th'  informant,  he  referred, 

And  ^  ,^;_^-  L..  .vuow  if  true,  what  he  ha-l  1.  mv.V 
"Did  you,  sir,  throw  up  a  black  crow?" 
"TV        :      '  liow  people  propagate  a  lie! 

have  been  thrown  up,  tlircc,  i  one, 

Ai-  .  find,  at  last,  all  comes  to  none! 

Di'i  iu>t!jin;;  of  a  crow  at  all?" 

>  I  might,  now  I  recall 
And  pray,  sir,  what  waa't?" 
"Why,  I  was  horrid  sick,  and,  at  the  last, 
I  did  throw  up,  and  told  my  neighbor  so, 
Something  that  was  as  black,  sir,  as  a  crow  " 


CCXXXVL— CHAR-CO-O-ALI 

1.  The  chimney  soot  was  falling  fast, 
As  through  the  streets  and  alleys  passed 
A  man  who  sang,  with  noise  and  din, 
This  word  of  singular  meanin, 

Char-co-o-al  1 

2    11  ■     "  as  grim,  his  nose  upturned, 

A  cry  ground  he  spurned — 

And  like  a  trumpet  sound  was  heard. 
The  accents  of  that  awful  word, 

Char-co-o-al  1 

3.  In  muddy  streets  he  did  descry 

The  "moire  antiques"  held  high  and  dry. 
With  feet  and  ankles  shown  too  well. 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  yell ! — 

Char-co-o-al ! 

4.  "  Do  n't  go  there  1"  was  the  warning  sound ; 
The  pipes  have  all  burst  underground, 

The  raging  torrent 's  deep  and  wide ;" 
But  loud  his  trumpet  voice  replied, 

Char-co-o-al  1 


AMUSINQ.  481 

5.  •'  Oh  stop  I"  good  Biddy  cried,  "and  lavo 
A  brimful  peck  upon  tliis  pave." 

A  smile  his  inky  face  came  o'er, 
And  on  he  went  with  louder  roar, 

Char-co-o-al  I 

6.  "  Beware  of  Main  street  crossing  deep, 
Away  from  Walnut  gutter  keep  1" 
This  was  the  sweeper's  only  greet, 

A  voice  replied  far  up  the  street, 

Char-co-o-al  1 

7.  At  set  of  sun,  as  homeward  went, 
The  joyous  men  of  cent  per  cent, 
Counting  the  dollars  in  their  till, 

A  voice  was  heard,  both  loud  and  shrill, 

Char-co-o-al  I 

8.  A  man  upon  the  watchman's  round, 
Half-steeped  in  mud  and  ice  was  found. 
Shouting  with  voice,  though  not  so  strong. 
That  awful  word  which  heads  my  song, 

Char-co-o-al  I 

9.  There  in  the  gas-light,  dim  and  gray, 
Dreaming  unconsciously  he  lay. 

And  from  his  nose,  turned  up  still  more, 
Came  sounding  like  a  thrilling  snore — 
Char-co-o-al  I 


CCXXXVIL— ALL  TIPSY  BUT  MB. 

L  Out  of  the  tavern  I  Ve  just  stepped  to-night — 
Street!  you  are  caught  in  a  very  bad  plight; 
Right  hand  and  left  hand  are  both  out  of  place-> 
Street,  yea  are  drunk ;  't  is  a  very  dear  caae. 

2.  Moon  1  't  is  a  very  queer  figure  you  out — 
One  eye  is  staring  while  t'  other  is  shut- 
Tipsy,  I  tee,  and  you  're  greatly  to  blame ; 
Old  as  yoa  are,.'t  is  a  horrible  shame. 

i.  Then  the  street  lamps — what  a  scandalous  sight! 
None  of  them  soberly  standing  upright: 
KiDD— 37 


yd^  ELOCUTION. 

Rocking  and  staggering — why,  on  my  word. 
Each  of  those  lamps  is  as  drunk  as  a  lord. 

4    All  is  confusion  !  now  is  n'fe  it  odd  7 
^jthing  is  sober  that  I  see  abroad; 
Sure  it  were  rash  with  this  crow  to  remain; 
Better  go  into  the  tavern  again. 


CCXXXVin.— EFFECTS  OF  INFLUENZA. 

*'  Good  bordig,  Biss  Biller." 

"  Good  bordig,  Bister  Sbith." 

"  How  's  your  Ba  this  bordig  ?  " 

"  I  do  d't  thig  she  'a  buch  better  thb  bordig.  Bister  Sbith. 
I  do  d't  at  all." 

"  Have  you  bade  up  your  bides  yet  what  is  the  battel 
with  her  ? 

"  Do,  dot  cgsactly ;  Dr.  Buggids,  our  ftibily  physiciad, 
thicks  it's  the  bcascls.  Bisses  Jodes,  who  has  it  id  her 
fabily,  says  it 's  the  sball-pox,  but  I  thick  it's  dothig  bore 
thad  an  eruptiod  of  the  skid  fro}>  «'^»'"  *no  buch  beat,  or 
Bobthig  else." 

"Has  she  taked  eddy  bedicid?" 

"  Dot  buch." 

"Have  you  tried  bribstode  add  bolasses?" 

"  Do.     Is  it  codsidered  good  ?" 

"Ad  idfallible  rebedy — cures  everythig.  Biss  Browd's 
little  dog  was  quite  udwell  dight  before  last — had  a  ruddig 
at  the  dose  add  subthig  like  the  bups ;  before  puttig  it  to 
bed  she  gave  it  half  a  wide-glass  of  the  bixture,  add  last 
dight  at  tea  it  was  able  to  seat  itself  in  the  case-basket, 
add  help  itself  frob  the  sugar-bowl.  It  works  Kke  bagic, 
just  like  bagic." 

**  Astodishig !  I  shall  adbidister  the  rebedy  tc  Ba  ibbcdi- 
ately!" 

"  Do  so,  with  by  copplibets." 

"  I  will.     Good  bordig,  Bister  Sbith." 

"  Good  bordig,  Biss  Biller." 


AMUSING.  435 

CCXXXIX.— BOBADIL'S  MILITARY  TACTICS. 

1.  f  WILL  tell  you,  sir,  by  the  way  of  private  and  uiidei 
seal,  I  ara  a  gentleman,  and  live  here  obscure  and  to  mystlf; 
but  were  I  known  to  his  majesty  and  the  lords,  observe  me, 
I  would  undertake,  upon  this  poor  head  and  life,  for  ihc 
public  benefit  of  the  state,  not  only  to  spare  the  entire 
lives  of  his  subjects,  in  general,  but  to  save  the  one-half, 
nay,  three  parts  of  yearly  charge  in  holding  war,  and 
against  what  enemy  soever. 

5.  And  how  would  I  do  it,  think  you  ?  Why  thus,  sir. 
I  would  select  nineteen  more  to  myself;  gentlemen  they 
should  be,  of  a  good  spirit,  strong  and  able  constitution  ;  1 
would  choose  them  by  an  instinct,  a  character  that  I  have  : 
and  I  would  teach  these  nineteen  the  special  rules,  as  your 
Punto,  your  Reverse,  your  Stoccato,  your  Imbrocato,  your 
Passado,  your  Montanto,  till  they  could  all  play  very  near, 
or  altogether,  as  well  as  myself.  This  done,  say  the  enemy 
were  forty  thousand  strong,  we  twenty  would  come  into  the 
field  the  tenth  of  March  or  thereabout;  and  we  would 
challenge  twenty  of  the  enemy ;  they  could  not  in  their 
honor  refuse  us ! 

3.  Well,  we  would  kill  them ;  challenge  twenty  more,  kill 
them;  twenty  more,  kill  them;  twenty  more,  kill  f hem, too  : 
and  thus  would  we  kill,  every  man  his  twenty  a  day,  that 's 
twenty  score;  twenty  score,  that's  two  hundred;  two  hun- 
dred a  day,  five  days  a  thousand :  forty  thousand, — forty 
times  five,  five  times  forty, — two  hundred  days  kills  them 
all  up  by  computation.  And  this  I  will  venture  my  poor 
gentleman-like  carcass  to  perform  (provided  there  be  no 
treason  practiced  upon  us,)  by  discreet  manhood,  that  is, 
civilly,  by  the  sword,  ben  Jonson. 


CCXL.— SPEECH  OBITUARY. 

1.  Mr.  Spkaker:  Sir, — Our  fellow-citizen,  Mr.  Silaa 
HiggiDS,  who  was  lately  a  member  of  this  branch  of  the 
Fiegislaturo,  is  dead,  and  he  died  yesterday  in  the  forenoon 


436  ELOCUTION. 

lie  had  the  brown -croaters,  (bronchitis  was  meant, y  and  was 
an  uncommon  individual.  His  character  was  good  up  to 
the  time  of  hia  death,  and  he  never  lost  his  woice.  He  was 
fifty-six  year  old,  and  was  taken  sick  before  he  died  at  his 
boarding  house,  where  board  can  be  had  at  a  dollar  and 
seventy-five  cents  a  week,  washing  and  lights  included. 
He  was  an  ingeuM  creetur^  and,  in  the  early  part  of  his  life, 
had  a  father  and  mother. 

2.  He  was  an  officer  in  our  State  militia  since  the  last 
war,  and  was  brave  and  polite ;  and  his  uncle,  Timothy 
Higgins,  belonged  to  the  Revolutionary  war,  and  was  com- 
missioned as  lieutenant  by  General  Washington,  first  Presi- 
dent and  commander-in-chief  of  the  army  and  navy  of  the 
United  States,  who  died  at  Mount  Vernon,  deeply  lamented 
by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  on  the  14th  of  December,  1799, 
or  thereabout,  and  was  buried  soon  after  his  death,  with 
military  honors,  and  several  guns  were  bu'st  in  firing 
salutes. 

3.  Sir !  Mr.  Speaker :  General  Washington  presided  over 
tue  great  continental  Sanhedrim  and  political  meeting  that 
formed  our  constitution  ;  and  he  was,  indeed,  a  first-rate 
good  man.  He  was  first  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  ;  and,  though  he  was  in  favor 
of  the  United  States  Bank,  he  was  a  friend  of  edication  ; 
and  from  what  he  said  in  his  farewell  address,  I  have  no 
doubt  he  would  have  voted  for  the  tariflF  of  1846,  if  he  had 
been  alive,  and  had  n't  ha'  died  beforehand.  His  death  was 
considered,  at  the  time,  as  rather  premature,  on  account  of 
lis  being  brought  on  by  a  very  hard  cold. 

4.  Now,  Mr.  Speaker,  such  being  the  character  of  Gen- 
eral Washington,  I  motion  that  we  wear  crape  around  the 
left  arm  of  this  Legislature,  and  adjourn  until  to-morrow 
morning,  as  an  emblem  of  our  respects  for  the  memory  of 
S.  Higgins  who  is  dead,  and  died  of  the  brown -creaters 
iresterday  in  the  forenoon ! 


AMUSING.  l-'.T 


CCXLI.  -THANKSGIVING  DINNER. 

"  Ei.DKU  PxiFKf.KS.  let  mc  crive  you  another  piece  o'  tli« 
turkey. 

'*  I  'ui  oijicegea  to  you,  3ir.  Maguire;  you  probably  recol- 
lect that  I  remarked  in  my  discourse  this  morning,  that 
indivic'uals  were  too  prone  to  indulge  in  an  excessive  indul- 
gence in  creature  comforts  on  thanksgiving  occasions.  In 
view  of  the  lamentable  fact  that  the  sin  of  gormandizing  is 
carried  to  a  sinful  excess  on  this  day,  I,  as  a  preacher  of 
the  Gospel,  deem  it  my  duty  to  be  unusually  abstemious  on 
such  oi^casions:  nevertheless,  considering  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances under  which  I  am  placed  this  day,  I  think  I 
Si.A  waive  objections  and  take  another  small  portion  of  the 
turkey." 

"  That's  right,  elder — what  part  will  you  take  now?" 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  particular  ;  a  small  quantity  of  the  breast, 
with  a  part  of  a  leg  and  some  of  the  stuffing,  will  be  quite 
sufEcIcnt." 

*'  Pass  the  cranberries  to  Klder  Sniffles,  Jeff — elder,  help 
yourself;  wife,  give  the  elder  some  more  o'  the  turnip  sass 
and  potater." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Maguire.  I  am  an  advocate  for  a 
vegetable  diet — and  have  always  maintained  that  it  is  more 
congenial  to  individuals  of  sedentary  habits  and  intellectual 
pursuits  like  myself,  than  animal  food." 

*'  Jeff,  my  son,  pass  the  bread.  Sister  Bedott,  send  your 
plate  for  some  more  o'  the  turkey." 

"  No,  I  'm  obleegcd  to  ye — I  've  had'  8ufl5cient." 

"  Jeff,  cut  the  chicken  pie." 

"  Sure  enough — I  almost  forgot  that  I  was  to  carve  tho 
pie — Aunt  Silly,  you  Ml  take  a  piece  of  it,  won't  you?" 

**  Well,  I  do  n't  care  if  I  dew  take  a  little  mite  on  t. 
I  'm  a  great  favorytc  o'  chicken  pie — always  thought  t  wat 
a  delightful  beverage — do  n't  you,  Elder  Sniffles?" 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — very  indeed  ;  chickeo 
pie  is  truly  a  very  desirable  article  of  food." 

''  Allow  nie  to  help  you  to  some  of  it,  elder." 

"  Tlir  my  young  friend;  as  I  before  remarked,  1 


438  ELOCUTION. 

am  entirely  opposed  to  ad  immoderate  indulgence  of  th« 
appetite  at  all  times,  but  particularly  on  thanksgiving  occa- 
sions— and  am  myself  always  somewhat  abstemious.  How- 
ever, I  consider  it  my  duty  at  the  present  time  to  depart, 
to  some  extent,  from  the  usual  simplicity  of  my  diet.  I 
will,  therefore,  comply  with  your  request,  and  partake  of 
the  chicken  pie." 

"  Take  some  more  o'  the  cranberry  sass,  elder :  cranber- 
ries is  hulsome." 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  .Ma<:uirc — they  are  so;  never- 
theless, I  maintain  that  we  should  not  indulge  too  freely  in 
even  the  most  wholesome  of  creature  comforts;  however, 
since  you  dc^*-'"  i*  T  will  take  a  small  port*' v  '"re  of  the 
cranberries.' 

"  Husband,  dew  pass  that  pickled  tongue — it  hain't  been 
touched — take  some  on  *t,  £ldcr  Sniffles." 

'*  I  *m  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Maguire — but  I  confess  I  am 
somewhat  fearful  of  taking  articles  of  that  description  upon 
my  stomach,  as  they  create  a  degree  of  acidity  which  is 
incompatible  with  digestion.  Is  it  not  so,  my  young  friend? 
You  are  undoubtedly  prepared  to  decide,  as  you  are,  I  be- 
lieve, pursuing  the  study  of  the  medical  science." 

"  I  think  you  are  altogether  mistaken.  Elder  Sniffles.  We 
should  always  take  a  due  proportion  of  acid  with  our  food, 
in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium  of  the  internal  economy, 
and  produce  that  degree  of  eflfervescence  which  is  necessary 
to  a  healthy  secretion." 

"  Exactly.  Your  view  of  the  subject  is  one  which  never 
struck  me  before ;  k  seems  a  very  just  one.  I  will  partake 
of  the  pickled  tongue  in  consideration  of  your  remarks." 

"  Take  a  slice  on  't.  Sister  Bedott.  Y"ou  seem  to  need 
some  tongue  to-day — you  're  oncommon  still." 

"  What  a  musical  man  you  be,  brother  Magwire !  but  \i 
strikes  me  when  an  indiwiddiwal  has  an  opportunity  o* 
hearin'  iutellectible  conversation  they  'd  better  keep  still 
ind  improve  it.     Ain  't  it  so.  Elder  Sniffles  ?  " 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott ;  and  one  which  has 
often  occurred  to  my  own  mind." 

"  Take  some  more  of  the  chicken  pie,  Elder  Sniffles." 


AMUSING.  439 

"  Excuse  me,  my  young  friend ;  I  will  take  nothing 
more." 

"  What  I  you  du  n't  mean  tu  ^ive  it  up  yet,  I  hope,  elder." 
"  Indeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  I  assure  you  I  would  rather  not 
lake  any  thing  more,  for  as   I  before  remarked,  I  am  de- 
cidedly opposed  to  excessive  eating  upon  this  day." 

"  Well,  then,  we  '11  have  the  pies  and  puddins.  Jeflf,  my 
ijn,  fly  round  and  help  your  mar  change  the  plates.  I  '11 
take  the  puddin,  Melissy — you  may  tend  to  the  pie^.  Jeff, 
Bet  on  the  cider.  So  here  's  a  plum-puddin' — it  looks  nice 
— I  guess  you  've  had  good-luck  to-day,  wife.  Sister  Be- 
dott,  you  '11  have  some  on  't?" 

"  No ;  I  'm  obleeged  to  ye.  I  've  got-  ruther  of  a  head- 
ache to-day,  and  plum  puddin's  rich.  I  guess  I  '11  take  a 
small  piece  o'  the  punkin  pie." 

"Elder  Sniffles,  you  '11  be  helped  to  some  on  't  of  course?" 
"  Indeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  the  practice  of  indulging  in  arti- 
cles of  this  description  after  eating  meat  is  esteemed  highly 
pernicious,  and  I  inwardly  protest  against  it;  furthermore, 
as  Mrs.  Bedott  has  very  justly  remarked,  plum  pudding  is 
rich — however,  considering  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  occasion,  I  will  for  once  overstep  the  boundaries  which 
I  have  prescribed  for  myself" 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  '11  have  some,  or  not?" 
"  I  will  partake,  in  consideration  of  time  and  place." 
"  Gracious !  wife,  this  is  as  good  puddin'  as  I  ever  eat." 
"  Elder  Sniffles,  will  you  take  some  o'  the  pie — here  is  a 
mince  pic  and  punkin  pie." 

"  I  will  take  a  small  portion  of  the  pumpkin  pie  if  you 
please,  Mrs.  Maguire,  as  I  consider  it  highly  nutritious ; 
but,  as  regards  the  mince  pie,  it  is  an  article  of  food  which 
I  deem  excessively  deleterious  to  the  constitution,  inasmuch 
AS  it  is  composed  of  so  great  a  variety  of  ingrcdiei.ts.  I 
esteem  it  exceedingly  difficult  of  digestion.  Is  it  nut  so, 
my  young  friend?" 

"  By  no  means,  elder ;  quite  the  contrary — and  the  renson 
is  obvious.  Observe,  elder — it  is  cut  into  the  most  minute 
particles ;  hence  it  naturally  follows,  that  being,  as  it  were, 
I  ompletely  calcined  before  it  enters  the  system — it  leaves.  s« 


440  ELOCUTION. 

to  spoak,  DO  labor  to  be  performed  by  the  digestive  organs, 
and  it  is  disposed  of  without  the  slightest  difficulty." 

*'  Ah,  indeed !  your  reasoning  is  quite  new  to  me — yet  1 
confess  it  to  be  most  satisfactory  and  lucid.  In  considera- 
tion of  its  facility  of  digestion  I  will  purtake  also  of  the 
mince  pie." 

*  Wife,  fill  the  elder  a  glass  o'  cider." 

"  Desist  I  Mrs.  Maguire,  desist,  I  entreat  you  I  I  invari- 
«bly  set  my  face  like  a  flint  against  the  use  of  all  intoxi- 
cating liquors  as  a  beverage." 

"  Gracious !  you  do  n't  mean  to  call  new  cider  an  intoxi- 
catin'  liquor,  I  hope?  Why,  man  alive,  it's  jest  made — 
hain't  begun  to  work." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  believe  it  to  be  exceedingly  insalubrious, 
and  detrimental  to  the  system.  Is  not  that  its  nature,  my 
young  friend?" 

"  Far  from  it,  elder — far  from  it.  Reflect  a  moment  and 
you  will  readily  perceive,  that  being  the  pure  juice  of  the 
apple — wholly  free  from  all  alcoholic  mixture — it  possesses 
all  the  nutritive  properties  of  the  fruit,  with  the  advantage 
of  being  in  a  more  condensed  form,  which  at  once  renders 
it  much  more  agreeable,  and  facilitates  assimilation." 

"Very  reasonable  —  very  reasonable  indeed.  Mrs.  Ma- 
guire, you  may  fill  my  glass." 

*'  Take  another  slice  o'  the  puddin',  Elder  Sniffles." 

"No  more,  I  'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Maguire." 

"  Well,  won't  you  be  helped  to  some  more  o'  the  pie?" 

"  No  more,  I  thank  you.  Mr.  Maguire." 

*'  But  you  '11  take  another  glass  o'  cider,  won't  you?" 

"In  consideration  of  the  nutritious  properties  of  new 
cider,  which  your  son  has  abundantly  shown  to  exist,  I  will 
permit  you  to  replenish  my  glass." 

"  So  you  won't  take  nothin'  more,  elder?" 

"  Nothing  more,  my  friends — nothing  more  whatsoever — 
for  as  I  have  several  times  remarked  during  the  repast,  I 
tm  an  individual  of  exceedingly  abstemious  habits — endea- 
voring to  enforce  by  example  that  which  I  so  strenuously 
enjoin  by  precept  from  the  pulpit,  to  wit — temperance  iu 
All  things." 


AMUSING.  4-11 


CCXLTT.  -TITE  MYSTERIOUS  WALKER 

1.  0,  ,  when  twilight  holy 

Eiiiili  hor  mantle  castcth  o'er, 
Cometh  one  who  wulketh  slowly, 

Slowly  past  my  open  door — 
Walketh  by,  all  sad  and  lonely. 

Some  times  walks  he  back  again ; 
No  companion  hath  he — only 

AVith  him  his  cigar  and  cane: 
Slowly  walking,  to  none  talking, 

Goes  he  forth  and  back  again  ; 
Sad  and  lonely,  with  him  only 

Always  that  cigar  and  cane! 

2.  Never,  while  the  sunbeams  garish 

Pour  upou  the  earth  their  light, 
lias  that  form,  a  little  sparish, 

Have  those  whiskers  met  my  sight ; 
But  when  sounds  of  insects  humming, 

Hymn  the  praise  of  eve's  fair  star. 
And  Miss  Jones  begins  that  strumrainft 

After  tea,  on  her  guitar, — 
Then  I  spy  him,  far  off  coming. 

By  the  light  of  his  cigar  1 
But  whence  comes  he,  or  where  goeth, 

Walking  fast  and  back  again. 
None  can  tell  me — no  one  knoweth 

Whose  are  that  cigar  and  cane  I 

8.  To  the  right  or  left  ne'er  looking. 

Onward  as  he  slowly  goes, 
Interruption  never  brooking, 

After  his  cigar  and  nose — 
No  acquaintance  ever  seeking, 

'Mid  the  crowds  that  he  may  meet — 
No  one  knowing — to  none  speaking. 

As  he  walks  along  the  street — 
Ever  seeming  like  one  dreaming 

O'er  the  flight  of  vanished  years — 
Sadly  pondering— on  still  wandering- 
Looking,  as  he  disappears, 
In  the  smoke  he  cast  behind  him, 

Like  the  ghost  of  by-gone  years! 


442  ELOCUTION. 

4.  Silent,  sad,  and  meditative, 

Like  a  man  who,  walking,  dreamt— 
Or  a  sage,  all  contemplative, 

Or  like  one  in  love,  he  seems  I 
Is  he  single  still  ?— or  may  be, 

DtX)med  awhile  thus  far  to  roam, 
Thinks  he  of  a  wife  and  baby, 

He  was  forced  to  leave  at  home? 
Something  looks  he  like  a  stray  bee. 

To  his  hive  but  newly  come! 
Much  I  fear  though  ('t  would  appear  so, 

If  the  truth  were  fairly  known, 
That  his  bceship  we  should  reslii|i — 

That  he  's  nothing  but  a  drone ; 
Idly  stalking — smoking,  walking. 

With  cigar  and  cane  alone! 


CCXLin.— PLEADING  EXTRAORDINARY. 

1.  May  it  Please  the  Court — Gentlemen  of  the  Jury — 
Vou  sit  in  that  box  as  the  great  reservoir  of  Roman  liberty, 
Spartan  fame,  and  Grecian  polytheism.  You  are  to  swing 
the  great  flail  of  justice  and  electricity  over  this  immense 
community,  in  hydraulic  majesty,  and  conjugal  superfluity. 
You  are  the  great  triumplial  arch  on  which  evaporates  the 
even  scales  of  justice  and  numerical  computation.  You  are 
to  ascend  the  deep  arcana  of  nature,  and  dispose  of  my 
client  with  equiponderating  concatenation,  in  reference  to 
his  future  velocity  and  reverberating  momentum, 

2.  Such  is  your  sedative  and  stimulating  character.  My 
client  is  only  a  man  of  domestic  eccentricity  and  matrimo- 
nial configuration,  not  permitted,  as  you  are,  gentlemen,  to 
walk  in  the  primeval  and  lowest  vales  of  society,  but  he  has 
to  endure  the  red  hot  sun  of  the  universe,  on  the  bights 
of  nobility  and  feudal  eminence.  He  has  a  beautiful  wife 
of  horticultural  propensities,  that  henpecks  the  remainder 
of  his  days  with  soothing  and  bewitching  verbosity,  that 
makes  his  pandemonium  as  cool  as  Tartarus. 

3.  He    has    a    family   of  domestic  childr  n,  that  gather 


AMUSING.  448 

around  the  fireplace  of  his  peaceful  homicide  in  tumulti- 
tudinous  consanguinity,  and  cry  with  screaming  and 
rebounding  pertinacity  for  bread,  butter,  and  molasses. 
Such  is  the  glowing  and  overwhelming  character  and  defea- 
sance of  my  Client,  who  stands  convicted  before  this  court 
of  oyer,  and  terminer,  and  lex  non  scriptaj  by  the  persecuting 
petifogger  of  this  court,  who  is  as  much  exterior  to  me  as 
1  am  to  the  judge,  and  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury. 

4.  This  Borax  of  the  law  here,  has  brought  witnesses  into 
this  court,  who  swear  that  my  client  stole  a  firkin  of  butter. 
Now,  I  say,  every  one  of  them  swore  to  a  lie,  and  the  truth 
is  concentrated  within  them.  But  if  it  is  so,  I  justify  the 
act  on  the  ground  that  the  butter  was  necessary  for  a  public 
good,  to  tune  his  family  into  harmonious  discord.  But  I 
take  other  mountainous  and  absquatulated  grounds  on  this 
trial,  and  move  a  quash  be  laid  upon  this  indictment. 

5.  Now,  I  will  prove  this  by  a  learned  expectoration  of 
the  principle  of  the  law.  Now  butter  is  made  of  grass,  and, 
it  is  laid  down  by  St.  Peter  Pindar,  in  his  principle  of  sub- 
terraneous law,  that  grass  is  couchant  and  levant,  which  in 
our  obicular  tongue,  means  that  grass  is  of  a  mild  and  free 
nature;  consequently,  my  client  had  a  right  to  grass  and 
butter  both. 

6.  To  prove  my  second  great  principle,  "  let  f\icts  be  sub- 
mitted to  a  candid  world."  Now  butter  is  grease,  and 
Greece  is  a  foreign  country,  situated  in  the  emaciated  regions 
of  Liberia  and  California;  consequently,  my  client  can  not 
be  tried  in  this  horizon,  and  is  out  of  the  benediction  of 
this  court.  I  will  now  bring  forward  the  ultimatum  respon- 
dentia, and  cap  the  great  climax  of  logic,  by  quoting  an 
inconceivable  principle  of  law,  as  laid  down  in  Latin,  by 
Pothier,  Iludibras,  Blackstone,  Hannibal,  and  Sangrado. 
It  is  thus  :  Ilcec  hoc  morus  multicaulis,  a  mensa  at  thoro,  ruta 
haga  eentum.  Which  means,  in  English,  that  ninety-nine 
men  are  guilty,  where  one  is  innocent. 

7.  Now,  it  is  your  duty  to  convict  ninety-nine  men  first; 
then  you  come  to  my  client,  who  is  innocent,  and  acquitted 
according  to  law.  If  these  great  principles  shall  be  duly 
dcprr  •  ■•    '  in  this  court,  then  tho  txrcnf   north  pole  of  lib- 


444  ELOCUTION. 

en  lias  stood  so  many  years  in  pneumatic  tallncsa, 

kI  rei.iiMic:!!!  regions  of  commerce  and  agriculture, 

tlie  Spanish  requisition,  the  pirates 
01  the  li}  pel  bureau  heas,  and  the  marauders  of  the  Aurora 
Bolivar!  I5ut,  jrcntlcmcn  of  the  jury,  if  you  convict  my 
client,  his  chiUlrcii  will  be  doomed  to  pine  away  in  a  statfl 
o\'  liopcless  matrimony  ;  and  his  beautiful  wife  will  stand 
Iwiif  iiid  delighted,  like  a  dried  up  mullen-stalk  in  a  Hhecp- 
pu  L.   B.   P.\ 


ccxi  .  «m:lor. 

i  ■  he  Common  Pleas, 

\>  (K)  was  csieeraed  a  mighty  wit, 

Upon  the  strength  of  a  chance  hit 
Amid  a  thousand  flippancies, 
And  his  occasional  bad  jokes 

In  bullying,  bantering,  browbeating, 

Ilidiculing,  and  maltreating 
Women,  or  other  timid  folks, 

In  ft  1"^"  .'..w»  r.w,>ii..,i  t,,  hoax 
A  cli)\'  -<jne 

WK  ■lucoutii  louK  and  gait, 

A]':  :  ressly  meant  by  fate 

For  bein^  ijuizzed  and  played  upon : 
So  having  tipped  the  wink  to  those 

In  the  back  rows. 
Who  kept  their  laughter  bottled  down, 

I'll  til  our  wag  should  draw  the  cork. 
If,,  -,,,;!,,!  jocosely  on  the  clown, 
t  to  Wvirk. 

2.  "  Well,  Farmer  Numskull,  how  go  calves  at  York  ? 

"  Why — not,  sir,  as  they  do  wi'  you, 

But  on  four  legs,  insteal     1  two." 
"  Officer !  "  cried  the  legal  elt, 
Piqued  at  the  laugh  against  himself, 

"  Do.  pray,  keep  silence  down  below  there. 
Now  1  lok  at  me,  clown,  and  attend; 
Have  I  not  seen  you  somewhere,  friend  ?  " 

"  Yees — very  like — I  often  go  there.'* 
"  Our  rustic  's  waggish — quite  laconic,** 
The  counsel  cried  with  grin  sardonic; 

**I  wish  I  M  known  this  prodigy, 


AMUSING.  446 

This  genius  of  the  clods,  when  I 

On  circuit  was  at  York  residing. 
Now,  Farmer,  do  for  once  speak  true — 
Mind,  you  're  on  oath,  so  tell  nic,  you. 
Who  doubtless  think  yourself  so  clever, 
Are  there  as  many  fools  as  over 

In  the  West  Riding  ?  " 
"  Why — no,  sir,  no  ;  we  've  got  our  share, 
But  not  so  many  as  when  you  were  there ! " 

nORACB  SMITU 


CCXLV.— A  MODEST  WIT. 

1.  A  SUPERCILIOUS  nabob  of  the  east- 
Haughty,  being  great — purse-proud,  being  rich, 

A  governor,  or  general,  at  the  least, 
I  have  forgotten  which — 

Had  in  his  family  an  humble  youth, 

Who  went  from  England  in  his  patron's  suite, 

An  unassuming  boy,  and  in  truth 

A  lad  of  decent  parts,  and  good  rei-uLo. 

L  This  youth  had  sense  and  spirit ; 
But  yet,  with  all  his  sense, 
Excessive  diflBdence 
Obscured  his  merit 

3.  One  day,  at  table,  flushed  with  pride  and  wine, 

His  honor,  proudly  free,  severely  merry. 
Conceived  it  would  be  vastly  fine 
To  crack  a  joke  upon  his  secretary. 

4.  "Young  man,"  ho  said,  "by  what  art,  craft  or  trade, 

Did  your  good  father  gain  a  livelihood  ?  " — 
"  He  was  a  saddler,  sir,"  Modestus  said, 
"  And  in  his  time  was  reckoned  good." 

5.  "A  saddler,  oh!  and  taught  you  Greek, 

Instead  of  teaching  you  to  sew ! 
Prny,  why  did  not  your  father  make 
A  saddler,  sir,  of  you  ?  " 

H.   Kach  parasite,  then,  as  in  duty  bound, 

TIm»  joko  iipplauded,  and  the  laugh  wont  round. 

At  h'li^ih  Modestus,  bowing  low, 
Said,  (craving  pardon,  if  too  free  he  made,) 

"  Sir,  by  your  leave  I  fain  would  know 
Your  father's  trade  !  " 


44(5  ELOCUTION. 

7.  *'  My  father's  trade !     Bless  me,  that 's  too  bad  ! 
My  father's  trade?   Why,  blockhead,  are  you  inad! 
My  father,  sir,  did  never  stoop  so  low 
lie  was  a  gentlero.on,  I  M  hM"»  ^    •  ' 

8    "Excuse  the  liberty  I  take, 

Modestus  said,  with  archness  on  his  brow, 
"  Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 
A  gentleman  of  you  ?  " 


CCXLVI.— THE  MARCH  OF  INTELLECT. 

1.  On!  learning's  a  very  fine  thing, 

As,  also,  are  wisdom  and  knowledge; 
For  a  man  is  as  great  as  a  king, 

If  he  has  but  the  airs  of  a  college. 
And  now-a-days  all  must  admit. 

In  learning  we  're  wondrously  favored, 
For  you  scarce  o'er  your  window  can  spiv^ 

But  some  learn-ed  man  is  beslavered  I 

2.  We  '11  all  of  us  shortly  be  doomed 

To  part  with  our  plain  understanding; 
For  intellect  now  has  assumed 

An  attitude  truly  commanding! 
All  ranks  are  so  dreadfully  wise. 

Common  sense  is  set  quite  at  defiance. 
And  the  child  for  its  porridge  that  cries, 

Must  cry  in  the  language  of  science ! 

3.  The  Weaver  it  surely  becomes 

To  talk  of  his  web's  involution ; 
For  doubtless  the  hero  of  thrums. 

Is  a  member  of  some  Institution. 
He  speaks  of  supply  and  demand. 

With  the  air  of  a  great  legislator, 
And  almost  can  tell  you  off-hand, 

That  the  smaller  is  less  than  the  greater  I 

4.  The  Blacksmith,  'mid  cinders  and  smoke. 

Whose  visage  is  one  of  the  dimmest, 
His  furnace  profoundly  will  poke, 
With  the  air  of  a  practical  chemist; 


AMUSING.  41 

Poor  Vulcan  has  recently  got 

A  lingo  that 's  almost  historic, 
And  can  tell  you  that  iron  is  hot, 

Because  it  is  filled  with  caluricl 

The  Mason,  in  book-learned  tone. 

Describes,  in  the  very  best  grammar. 
The  resistance  that  dwells  in  the  stone. 

And  the  power  that  resides  in  the  hammer; 
For  the  son  of  the  trowel  and  hod 

Looks  as  big  as  the  frog  in  the  fable, 
While  he  talks  in  a  jargon  as  odd 

As  his  brethren,  the  builders  of  Babel ! 

The  Cobbler  who  sits  at  your  gate, 

Now  pensively  points  his  hog's  bristle, 
Though  the  very  same  Cobbler  of  late 

O'er  his  work  used  to  sing  and  to  whistle ; 
But  cobbling  's  a  paltry  pursuit 

For  a  man  of  polite  education ; 
Ilis  works  may  be  trod  under  foot. 

Yet  he  *8  one  of  the  lords  of  creation ! 

Oh  1   learning  's  a  very  fine  thing  ! 

It  almost  is  treason  to  doubt  it — 
Yet  many  of  whom  I  could  sing, 

Perhaps,  might  as  well  be  without  it: 
And  without  it  my  days  I  will  pass. 

For  to  me  it  was  ne'er  worth  a  dollar, 
And  I  do  n't  wish  to  look  like  an  ass 

By  trying  to  talk  like  a  scholar! 

Blackwood's  magazink. 


CCXLVIL— A  TEA  PARTY. 

1.  WiiKN  the  party  commences,  all  starched  and  all  glum, 
They  talk  of  the  weather,  their  corns,  or  sit  mum : 

They  will  tell  you  of  ribbons,  of  cambric,  of  lace, 
How  cheap  they  were  sold — and  will  tell  you  the  placa 
They  discourse  of  their  colds,  and  tliey  hem  and  they  conj^h, 
And  complain  of  their  servants  to  pass  the  time  off. 

2.  Bi  tt  enlivener  of  wit  and  of  soul, 
More  loi^uucious  by  far  than  the  draughts  of  the  buwl, 


448  ELOCUTION. 

Soon  loo8eD8  the  tongue  and  enlivens  the  minJ, 

And  enlightens  their  ejes  to  the  faults  of  mankind. 

It  brings  on  the  tapis  their  neighbors'  defects, 

The  faults  of  their  friends,  or  their  willful  neglects ; 

Uemlnds  them  of  many  a  good-natured  tale 

Of  those  who  are  stylish  and  those  who  arc  frail, 

Till  «he  sweet-tempered  dames  are  converted  by  tea, 

Into  character-manglers — Qunaikophagi. 

In  harmless  chitrcliat  an  acquaintance  they  roast. 

And  serve  up  a  friend,  as  they  serve  up  a  toast. 

Some  gentle  faux  pas,  or  some  female  mistake. 

Is  like  sweetmeats  delicious,  or  relished  as  cake: 

A  bit  of  broad  scandal  is  like  a  dry  crust. 

It  would  stick  in  the  throat,  so  they  butter  it  first 

With  a  little  affected  good  nature,  and  cry 

Nobody  regrets  the  thing  deeper  than  I. 

3.  Ah  ladies,  and  was  it  by  heaven  designed. 
That  ye  should  be  merciful,  loving,  and  kind! 
Did  it  form  you  like  angels  and  send  you  below. 
To  propliesy  peace — to  bid  charity  flow? 

And  have  you  thus  left  your  primeval  estate. 
And  wandered  so  widely — so  strangely  of  late? 
Alas !  the  sad  course  I  too  plainly  can  see. 
These  evils  have  all  come  upon  you  through  tea. 

4.  Cursed  weed,  that  can  make  your  fair  spirifci  resigm 
The  character  mild  of  their  mission  divine, 

That  can  blot  from  their  bosoms  that  tenderness  true, 

Which  from  female  to  female  for  ever  is  due. 

Oh  how  nice  is  the  texture,  how  fragile  the  frame 

Of  that  delicate  blossom,  a  female's  fair  fame. 

'T  U  the  sensitive  plant,  it  recoils  from  the  breath. 

And  shrinks  from  the  touch  as  if  pregnant  with  death. 

How  often,  how  often,  has  innocence  sighed, 

Has  beauty  been  reft  of  its  honor,  its  pride, 

Has  virtue,  though  pure  as  an  angel  of  light, 

Been  painted  as  dark  as  a  demon  of  night ; 

All  offered  up  victims — an  auto  da  f^. 

At  the  gloomy  cabals,  the  dark  orgies  of  tea. 

5.  If  I,  in  the  remnant  that 's  left  me  of  life. 
Am  to  suffer  the  torments  of  slanderous  strife, 

Let  me  fall,  I  implore,  in  the  slang- whanger's  claw. 
Where  the  evil  is  open,  and  subject  to  law ; 


AMUSING.  449 

Not  nibbled  atd  mumbled,  and  put  to  the  rack, 
By  the  sly  undermining  of  tea-party  clack. 
Condemn  me,  ye  gods,  to  a  newspaper  roasting, 
But  spare  me!  oh  -i.ir.>  ,.,<>    •,  tea-table  toastingi 


CCXLVm.— THERE  ONCE  WAS  A  TOPER. 

]    TuERE  once  was  a  toper — I  '11  not  tell  his  name  — 
Who  had  for  his  comfort  a  scolding  old  dame; 
And  often  and  often  he  wished  himself  dead, 
For  if  drunk  he  came  home,  she  would  beat  him  to  bed 
lie  spent  all  his  evenings  away  from  his  home, 
And  when  he  returned,  he  would  sneakingly  come 
And  try  to  walk  straightly,  and  say  not  a  word — 
Just  to  keep  his  dear  wife  from  abusing  her  lord  r 
For,  if  he  dared  say  his  tongue  was  his  own, 
'T  would  get  her  tongue  going,  in  no  gentle  tone. 
And  she  'd  huff  him,  and  cuff  him,  and  call  him  hard  na\j<«^ 
And  he  'd  sigh  to  be  rid  of  all  scolding  old  dames. 

2.  It  happened,  one  night,  on  a  frolic  he  went, 
lie  staid  till  his  very  last  penny  was  spent, 
But  how  to  go  home,  and  get  safely  to  bed, 
Was  the  thing  on  his  heart  that  most  heavily  weighed. 
But  home  he  must  go:    so  he  caught  up  his  hat. 
And  off  he  went  singing,  by  this  and  by  that, 
"  I  '11  pluck  up  my  courage,  I  guess  she  's  in  bed. 
If  she  aint,  't  is  no  matter,  I  'm  sure :   Who  's  afraid  ?  " 
lie  came  to  his  door:    he  lingered  until 
He  peeped:   and  he  listened,  and  all  seemed  quite  still; 
In  he  went,  and  his  wife  sure  enough  was  in  bed ! 
"Ohl"   says  he,  "it's  just  as  I  thought:  Who'  s  afraid',  ' 

3    lie  crept  about  softly,  and  spoke  not  a  word. 
His  wife  seemed  to  sleep,  for  she  never  e'en  stirred ! 
Thought  he,  "for  this  night,  then,  my  fortune  is  made! 
For  my  dear  scolding  wife  is  asleep!    Who  's  afraid?" 
But  soon,  ho  felt  thirsty ;  and  slyly  he  rose. 
And  groping  around,  to  the  table  he  goes, 
The  pitcher  found  empty,  and  so  was  the  bowl, 
The  pail  and  the  tumblers, — she  'd  emptied  the  whole  1 
At  length  in  a  comer,  a  vessel  he  found ! 
Says  he,  "here's  something  to  drink,  "I'll  be  bound  I" 

KinD.-3S 


^50  EI.  ^'M-roN. 

And  eagerly  seizing,  he  lilted  it  up,— 

And  drank  it  all  off,  in  one  long  hearty  sup  I 

4.  It  tasted  so  queerly:   and,  what  it  could  be, 
lie  wondered  : — it  neither  was  water,  nor  tea  I 
Just  then  a  thought  struck  him  and  filled  him  with  fear, 
'Oh!   it  must  be  the  poison  for  rnts,  I  declare  I" 
And  loudly  he  called  on  his  dear  sleeping  wife, 
And  begged  her  to  rise:    "for,"  said  he,  **on  my  life,— 
I  fear  it  was  poison,  the  bowl  did  contain ! 
Oh!   dear  I  yes, — it  was  poison,  I  now  feel  the  pain!" 
*•  And  what  made  you  dry,  sir?"   the  wife  sharply  cried: 
*'  'T  would  serve  you  just  right  if  from  poison  you  died  : 
And  you  've  done  a^n<  job,  and  you  'd  now  better  mar<;h, 
For  just  see,  you  bnite,  you  hate  drank  all  my  starch  I" 


CCXLIX.— YES  OR  NO. 

1.  WuEN  of  a  man  I  ask  a  question, 

I  wish  he  'd  answer  "yes"  or  "no;" 
Not  stay  to  make  some  smooth  evasion. 
And  only  tell  me,  "may  be  so." 

2.  When  of  a  friend  I  wish  to  borrow, 

A  little  cash,  to  hear  him  say 
I  've  none  to-day,  but  on  to-morrow," 
Is  worse  than  if  he  told  me  "  nay." 

3.  I  from  my  soul  despise  all  quibbling, 

I  '11  use  it  not  with  friend  or  foe. 
But  when  they  ask,  without  dissembling, 
I  'U  plainly  answer,  "yes"  or  ''no." 

4.  Why  all  this  need  of  plastering  over. 

What  we  in  fact  intend  to  show ; 
Why  not  at  once,  with  much  less  labor. 
Say  frankly  "  yes,  my  friend,"  or  "  no. 

5.  But  when  I  ask  that  trembling  question, 

"Will  you  be  mine,  my  dearest  miss?' 
Then  may  there  be  no  hesitation, 
But  say  distinctly,  "yes,  sir,  yes." 


AMUSING.  45] 


CL.— QUERIES. 


1.  lb  it  any  body's  business, 

If  a  gentleman  should  choose 
To  wait  upon  a  lady, 

If  the  lady  do  n't  refuse? 
Or  to  speak  a  little  plainer. 

That  the  meaning  all  may  know ; 
Is  it  any  body's  business 

If  a  lady  has  a  beau  ? 

2   Is  it  any  body's  business 

When  that  gentleman  may  call, 
Or  when  he  leaves  a  lady, 

Or  if  he  leaves  at  all  ? 
Or  is  it  necessary 

That  the  curtain  should  be  drawn, 
To  save  from  further  trouble, 

The  outside  lookers-on  ? 

3.  Is  it  any  body's  business 

But  the  lady's,  if  her  beau 
Rides  out  with  other  ladies. 

And  does  n't  let  her  know  ? 
Is  it  any  body's  business 

But  the  gentleman's,  if  she 
Accepts  another  escort, 

Where  ho  does  n't  chance  to  be  ? 

4.  Is  :i  person  on  the  sidewalk, 

Whether  great  or  whether  small, 
Is  it  any  body's  business 

Where  that  person  means  to  callt 
Or  if  you  se'e  a  person. 

As  he  's  calling  any  where, 
Is  it  any  of  your  business 

What  his  business  may  be  there  T 

6.  The  substance  of  our  query. 

Simply  stated,  would  be  this— 
Is  it  any  body's  business 

What  another's  btisiness  isl 
If  it  is,  or  if  it  is  n't. 

We  would  really  like  to  know, 
For  we  *re  certain  if  it  is  n't, 

There  :iro  some  who  make  it  sa 


452  ELOCUTION. 


]      'I'lii-ui,'    iki    ui.i  ^. ;. w,..,   ... 

Ill  uto  rhjm« 

iSin^^H*  aim  uuuint? ; 

To  see  how  one  thing  with  another  chimes ; 
if  you  have  wit  enough  to  pUm  a 
r  somothinir  else  to  write  about 

;ry  it  now;  ouo  Asa  Stokes, 
nil  .  whom  every  thing  provokes, 

A  burly-tciupcrcJ,  evil-minded,  bearish, 
Ill-natured  kind  of  being; 
He  was  the  deacon  of  the  parish, 
And  had  the  overseeing 
Of  some  small  matter.- 
Of  the  church-bell,  ana  > 


till;      ll.tlU 


3.  Well,  Deacon  Stokes  had  gone  to  bed,  one  ni-iit, 
About  eleven  or  before, 

'T  was  in  December,  if  my  memory  's  right,  in  '24. 

'T  was  cold  enough  to  make  a  Russian  shiver ; 

I  think  I  never  knew  one 

Colder  than  this,— in  faith  it  was  a  blue  one  I 

As  ]>y  till-  almanac  foretold,  't  was 

A  real  Laplaud  night.     0  dear!  how  cold  't  was! 

4.  There  was  a  chap  about  there  named  Ezekiel, 
A  clever,  good- for-notli  \, 

Who  very  often  used  u  .;,..    p-ite  mellow; 

Of  ^vhonl  the  Deacon  always  used  to  speak  ill; 

For  he  was  fond  of  cracking  jokes 

On  Deacon  Stokes,  to  show  on 

What  terms  he  stood  among  the  women  folks,  and  so 

5.  It  came  to  pass  that  on  the  night  I  epeak  of, 
Ezekiel  left  the  tavern  bar-room,  where 

He  spent  the  evenintr.  for  the  sake  of 

Drowning  his  eare,   hy  partaking 

Of  the  merry-making  and  enjoyment 

Of  some  good  fellows  there,  whose  sole  employment 

Was,  all  kinds  of  weather,  on  every  night, 

By  early  caudle  light,  to  get  together 

Reading  the  papers,  smoking  pipes  and  cliewing, 

Tolling  long  yarn?,  and  pouring  down  the  ruin. 


AMUSING.  451t 

6    Pretty  well  orned,  and  up  to  any  thing, 
Drunk  as  a  lord,  and  happy  as  a  king, 
Blue  a8  a  razor,  from  his  midnight  revel, 
Nor  fearing  muskets,  women,  or  the  devil ; 
With  a  light  heart — much  lighter  than  a  foathpi  — 
With  a  light  soul  that  spurned  the  freezing  weather, 
And  with  a  head  ten  times  as  light  as  either  ; 
And  a  purse,  perhaps,  as  light  as  all  together, 
On  went  Ezekiel,  with  a  great  expansion 
Of  thought,  until  he  brought 
Up  at  a  post  before  the  Deacon's  mansion. 

7.  With  ono  arm  round  the  post,  awhile  he  stoud 
In  thoughtful  mood,  with  one  eye  turned 

Up  toward  the  window  where,  with  feeble  glare, 

A  candle  burned; 

Then  with  a  serious  face,  and  a  grave,  mysterious 

Shake  of  the  head,  Ezekiel  said — 

(His  right  eye  once  more  thrown  upon  the  beacon 

That  from  the  window  shone,)  "  I  'i\  start  the  Deacon  I" 

8.  Rap,  rap,  rap,  rap,  went  Deacon  Stokes's  knocker. 
But  no  one  stirred  ;  rap,  rap,  it  wont  again  ; 

**  By  George,  it  must  be  after  ten,  or 
They  must  take  an  early  hour  for  turning  in." 
Rap,  rap,  rap,  rap — *'  My  conscience,  how  they  keep 
A  fellow  waiting — Patience,  how  they  sleep! 

9.  The  Deacon  then  began  to  be  alarmed, 
And  in  amazement  throw  up  the  casement: 
And  with  cap  on  head,  of  fiery  red. 
Demanded  what  the  cause  was  of  the  riot, 
That  thus  disturbed  his  quiets 

10.  "  Quite  cool  this  evening,  Deacon  Stokes,"  replied 
The  voice  below.     "Well,  sir,  what  is  the  matter?  " 
"Quito  chilly.  Deacon;  how  your  teeth  do  chjitter!" 

*'  You  vagabond,  a  pretty  time  you  have  chosen 

To  show  your  wit ;  for  I  am  almost  frozen ; 

Be  off,  or  I  will  put  the  lash  on!" 

••  Why  bless  you.  Deacon,  do  'nt  be  in  a  passion  I  " 

'T  was  all  in  vain  to  speak  again, 

For  with  the  Deacon's  threat  about  the  lash, 

Down  went  the 


454 


11.  Rap,  rap,  rap,  rap,  the  knocker  weut  again, 
And  neither  of  them  was  a  very  li^^ht  rap  ; 
Thump,  thump,  against  the  door  went  Ezckiel's  cane, 
And  that  once  more  brought  Deacon  Stokes's  night-cap. 

12.  "Very  cold  weather,  Dcacun  Stok*»-    tM-T.i.rht! " 
"  Begone,  you  vile,  insolent  dog,  or  I  '11 

iiive  you  a  warming  that  shall  serve  you  n^nt ; 

Yu\i  villain,  it  is  time  to  end  the  hoax  1 " 

**  Why  bless  your  soul  and  body.  Deacon  Stokes, 

Do  n't  bo  so  cross  when  I  've  come  here,  in  this  severe 

Night,  which  is  cold  enough  to  kill  a  horse, 

For  your  advice  upon  t  very  difficult  and  nice 

Question.    Now,  bless  you,  do  make  haste  and  dress  you." 

13.  "Well,  well,  out  with  it,  if  it  must  be  so; 
Be  quick  about  it,  I  'm  very  colA" 

"  Well,  Deacon,  I  do  n't  doubt  it. 

In  a  few  words  the  matter  can  bo  told 

D  aeon,  the  case  is  thia ;  I  want  to  know^ 

I.  this  cold  weather  last*?  all  summer  here, — 

What  time  will  green  peas  come  alon^r  next  year?" 

TIIOUAS   QUILP. 


CCLIf   -THE  DRUNKARD'S  RESOLUTION. 

1.  Touch  thee?  No,  viper  of  vengeance!  Didst  thoa 
not  promise  to  make  me  strong?  aye,  strong  as  Sampson; 
and  rich,  rich  as  Croesus  ?  But  instead  of  this,  villain  !  you 
have  stripped  me  of  my  flocks ;  left  my  pockets  empty ; 
robbed  me  of  my  senses ;  made  me  wretched ;  made  me 
miserable;  and  then  laid  me  in  the -ditch.  Touch  thee? 
No  !  I  will  slay  thee,  rather. 

2.  But  one  embrace  before  thou  diest.  1  always  thought 
*t  was  best  to  give  the  devil  his  due ;  and  (tasting),  devil, 
thou  hast  a  pleasant  face,  a  sparkling  eye,  a  ruby  lip,  and 
thy  breath  (tasting)  is  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  roses. 
My  honey  (tasting),  thou  shalt  not  die.  I  '11  stand  by  thee, 
day  and  night;  I'll  fight  for  thee;  I'll  teach  (hie)  others 
a  little  wisdom ;  I  '11  live  (tasting)  on  milk  and  (hie) 
honey,  and  (tasting)  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth. 


MIBCELLANEOUS.  455 


MISCELLANJ50US. 


CCLIIL—THE  OLD  ARM  CHAIR. 

1    I  ix)VE  it!  I  love  it!  and  who  shall  dare 
To  chide  me  for  loving  that  old  arm  chair? 
I  've  treasured  it  long  as  a  sainted  prize, 
I  've  bedewed  it  with  tears  and  embalmed  it  with   -ighB 
'T  is  bound  by  a  thousand  bands  to  my  heart, 
Not  a  tie  will  break,  not  a  link  will  start ; 
Would  you  know  the  spell  ?  a  mother  sat  there . 
And  a  sacred  thing  is  that  old  arm  chair. 

2.  In  childhood's  hour  I  lingered  near 
That  hallowed  seat  with  a  listening  ear, 

To  the  gentle  words  that  mother  would  give, 

To  fit  me  to  die  and  teach  me  to  live  ; 

She  told  me  shame  would  never  betide, 

With  truth  for  my  creed,  and  God  for  my  g^ide; 

She  taught  me  to  lisp  my  earliest  prayer. 

As  I  knelt  beside  that  old  arm  chair. 

3.  I  sat  and  watched  her  many  a  day 

When  her  eye  grew  dim,  and  her  locks  were  gray, 
And  I  almost   worshiped  her  when  she  smiled 
And  turned  from  her  Bible  to  bless  her  child : 
Years  rolled  on,  but  the  last  one  sped. 
My  idol  was  8hattere<l,  my  earth-star  fled ! 
I  felt  how  much  the  heart  can  bear. 
When  I  saw  her  die  in  that  old  arm  chair. 

4.  'T  is  past!  'tis  past!  but  I  gaze  on  it  now 
With  quivering  lip  and  throbbing  brow; 

'T  was  there  she  nursed  me,  't  was  there  shb  died, 

And  memory  still  flows  with  lava  tide. 

Say  it  is  f<»lly,  and  deem  mo  weak. 

As  the  scalding  drops  start  down  my  cheek ; 

But  I  love  it!  I  love  it!  and  can  not  tear 

My  »oul  from  my  mothor' s  old  arm  chair!      iliza  cooil 


456 


T  T  O  K  . 


CCLIV.— rOLlTlOAL  INTEGRITY. 


1.  This  immaculate,  invincible  uprightness  in  public 
Btation,  is  no  dream  of  visionaries.  We  can  not  dismiss  it 
as  a  glory  of  the  past,  impracticable  and  fabulous  at  present. 
This  is  infidelity  to  Providence,  to  history,  to  the  ever 
living  heart  of  Christ.  Besides,  the  instances  st^ind  forth, 
illustrious  and  imperial,  in  every  Christian  nation — the 
honor  of  statesmanship,  the  defense  of  governments,  the 
strength  of  their  age  against  all  partisan  or  selfish  con- 
spiracies. 

2.  Look,  for  a  single  example  of  that  power,  into  the 
last  generation,  and  the  legislative  halls  of  England. 
Trained  in  the  best  refinement  and  learning  of  his  time, 
coming  forth  from  the  midst  of  London  fashions  and  pal- 
aces, where  the  frowns  of  the  world  are  most  formidable, 
and  its  flatteries  most  seductive,  familiar  from  his  child- 
hood with  the  luxuries  of  fortune  and  the  policies  of  a  false 
expediency,  yet  witii  ion  quickened  by  Christian 
faith,  and  his  whole  nature  lightened  and  invigorated  by 
the  lessons  of  Olivet  and  Calvary,  Wilberforce  enters  Par- 
liament. Many  a  hard  test  tries  his  steadfastness.  Erect, 
and  yet  courteous,  he  never  swerves.  He  sees  straight 
through  every  moral  sophistry,  and  no  chicanery  can  cheat 
him  into  one  doubtful  compliance.  Hardest  of  all,  Melville 
is  impeached.  Friendship,  favor,  interest,  social  alliance, 
popularity,  all  importune  this  Christian  statesman  to  take 
up  the  cause  of  the  accused. 

3.  There  was  the  eloquent  countenance,  and  the  trumpet 
tongue  of  Pitt  pleading  the  same  way.  But  there  was  one 
voice  on  the  other  side,  stiller,  grander,  the  voice  of  a 
righteous  sincerity,  and  from  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
take  no  appeal.  He  knew  Melville  was  wrong,  the  accusa- 
tion just.  Not  an  instant's  hesitation.  He  stood  up  to 
speak  for  Right,  stripped  bare  of  all  enchantments,  and  he 
knew  that,  speaking  for  that,  he  spoke  for  man,  for  his 
country,  for  God ;  because  he  who  obeys  a  law  higher  than 
that  of  states,  obeys  a  law  in  which  alone  any  state  is  safe. 
Proud   and  powerful  men   looked  on  with    disappointment, 


MISCBLLANECU3.  457 

(lilt  {'.  sriy  with  wrath.     Kvery  sentence  was  like   hacking 
away  old  and  precious  bonds  of  fellowship. 

4.  Melville  was  condemned,  and  how  ?  Let  the  words  of 
another's  history  answer :  "  It  was  felt  that  in  a  question 
of  pimple  integrity,  where  casuistry  had  to  be  eluded,  and 
plausibility  swept  aside,  this  religious  tongue  was  the  last 
authority  in  England.  In  the  British  senate,  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  when  a  point  of  morality  was  to  be  settled, 
it  was  not  to  the  man  of  dueling  honor,  it  was  not  to  the 
philosophic  moralist,  that  men  looked  for  a  decision  ;  it  was 
to  the  Christian  senator  whose  code  was  the  Bible,"  kneel- 
ing every  morning  before  the  All-seeing  Eye,  going  up  to 
his  seat  from  his  closet,  through  all  the  perplexities  of  his 
place,  saying  ever  secretly  to  his  God,  "  Lead  me  only  by 

Thy  light."  PROF     HUNTINGTON. 


CCLV.— WHO  SHALL  JUDGE  MAN? 

1.  Who  shall  judge  a  man  from  nature? 

Who  shall  know  him  by  his  dress  ? 
Paupers  may  be  fit  for  princes, 

Princes  fit  for  somethinj;;  less. 
Crumpled  shirt  and  dirty  jacket 

■  May  beelothe  the  golden  ore 
Of  the  deepest  thought  and  feeling — 

Satin  vest  could  do  no  more. 

2.  There  are  springs  of  crystal  nectar 

Ever  swelling  out  of  stone  ; 
There  are  purple  buds  and  golden, 

Hidden,  crushed,  and  overgrown. 
God,  who  counts  by  souls,  not  dresses, 

L(>vc8  and  prospers  you  and  me ; 
While  lie  values  thrones  the  highest 

But  as  pebbles  in  the  sea. 

3.  Mnn,  upraised  above  his  fellows 

Oft  forgets  his  fellows  then ; 
Masters — rulers — lords,  remember. 

That  your  meanest  hands  are  men  I 
Men  of  labor,  meu  of  feeling. 
Men  by  thought  and  men  by  fiune, 
KiDD— 39 


458  BLOOUTION. 

Claiming  equal  rights  to  sunshine 
In  a  man's  ennobling  name. 

4.  There  are  foam-embroidered  oceans, 

There  are  little  weed-clad  rills, 
There  are  feeble,  inch-high  saplings, 

There  are  cedars  on  the  hills ; 
Qod,  who  counts  by  souls,  not  stations, 

Loves  and  prospers  you  and  me: 
For  to  him  all  vain  distinctions 

Are  as  pebbles  in  the  sea. 

5.  Toiling  hands  alone  are  builders 

Of  a  nation's  wealth  and  fame ; 
Titled  laziness  is  pensioned, 

Fed,  and  fattened  on  the  same; 
By  the  sweat  of  other's  foreheads, 

Living  only  to  rejoice, 
While  the  poor  man's  outraged  freedom 

Vainly  lifleth  up  its  voice. 

6.  Truth  and  justice  are  eternal. 

Born  with  loveliness  and  light; 
Secret  wrong  shall  never  prosper 

While  there  is  a  starry  night. 
God,  whose  world-heard  voice  is  singing 

Boundless  love  to  you  and  me, 
Sinks  oppression  with  its  titles. 

As  the  pebbles  in  the  sea. 


CCLVI.— HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 

The  castle  of  Montgom'ry  ; 
Green  be  your  woods  and  fair  your  flowersi 

Your  waters  never  drumlie. 
There  summer  first  unfolds  his  robes, 

And  there  they  longest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  my  last  farewell 

Of  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Ilow  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  green  birk, 
IIow  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom; 

As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 
I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  45^ 

The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  mo  as  li^ht  and  life, 

Was  mj  sweet  Ilighland  Mary. 

With  many  a  vow  and  locked  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  full  tender ; 
And  pledging  oft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder, 
But,  oh!  fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  so  early! 
Now  green  's  the  sod  and  cold  's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Ilighland  Mary. 

Oh  I. pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips 

I  oft  have  kissed  so  fondly ; 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance. 

That  dwelt  on  me  so  kindly. 
And  moldering  now  in  silent  dust, 

That  heart  that  loved  me  dearly ; 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Sluill  live  my  Ilighland  Mary!  bcrna. 


CCLVIl.— THE  ROOK  AND  THE  LARK. 

"GooD-NiGUT,  Sir  Rook,"  said  a  little  Lark; 
"  The  daylight  fades,  it  will  soon  be  dark ; 
I  've  bathed  my  wings  in  the  sun's  last  rayy 
I  've  sung  my  hymn  to  the  dying  day, 
So  now  I  haste  to  my  quiet  nook 
In  the  dewy  meadow:  good-night.  Sir  Rook." 

'•  Good-night,  poor  Lark,"  said  his  titled  friend. 

With  a  haughty  toss  and  a  distant  bend; 

"  I  also  go  to  my  rest  profound, 

But  not  to  sleep  on  the  cold,  damp  ground; 

The  fittest  place  for  a  bird  like  me, 

Th  the  topmost  bough  of  the  tall  pine-tree. 

1  opened  my  eyes  at  the  peep  of  day. 
And  Haw  you  taking  your  upward  way. 
Dreaming  your  fond  romantic  dreams, 
An  ugly  speck  in  the  sun's  bright  beams ; 
Soaring  too  high  to  bo  seen  or  heard — 
And  said  to  myself,  what  a  foolinh  birdl 


4(^0  BLOOOTION. 

4.  '*  I  trod  the  park  with  a  princely  air ; 
I  filled  my  crop  with  tho  richest  faro ; 
I  cawed  ail  day  'mid  a  lordly  crow, 
And  made  more  noise  in  the  world  than  you  I 
Tho  sun  shone  full  on  my  ebon  wing; 
I  looked  and  wondered;  good-night,  poor  thing  I" 

5    "Good-night,  once  more,"  said  the  Lark's  swoet  voioe, 
*'I  see  no  cause  to  repent  my  choice; 
You  build  your  nest  in  the  lofty  pine, 
But  is  your  slumber  more  soft  than  mine? 
You  make  more  noise  in  the  world  than  I, 
But  whose  is  the  sweeter  minstrelsy?" 


CCLVra.— THE  OLD  MAN  DREAMa 

1.  0,  FOR  one  hour  of  youthful  joy  I 

Give  me  back  my  twentieth  spring  I 
I  'd  rather  laugh  a  bright-haired  boy 
Than  reign  a  gray-haired  king ! 

2.  Off  with  the  wrinkled  spoil)*  if  age  I 

Away  with  learning's  crown  ! 
Tear  out  life's  wisdom- written  page, 
And  dash  its  trophies  down  I 

3.  One  moment  let  my  life-blood  stream 

From  boyhood's  fount  of  flame  1 
Give  me  one  giddy,  reeling  dream 
Of  life  all  love  and  fame! 

4.  My  listening  angel  heard  the  prayer. 

And,  calmly  smiling,  said, 
"  If  I  but  touch  thy  silvered  hair. 
Thy  hasty  wish  hath  sped. 

5.  *'  But  is  there  nothing  in  thy  track 

To  bid  thee  fondly  stay, 
While  the  swift  seasons  hurry  back 
To  find  the  wished-for  day?" 

6.  Ah!  truest  soul  of  womankind! 

Without  thee  what  were  life  ? 
One  bliss  I  can  not  leave  behind : 
I  '11  take— my — precious — wife  1 


MISOBLLANEOUti.  401 

7.  The  angel  took  a  eapphiro  pen 

And  wrote  in  rainbow  dew, 
"  The  man  would  be  a  boy  again. 
And  be  a  husband,  too  I" 

8.  **AQd  is  there  nothing  jet  unsaid 

Before  the  change  appears  ? 
Remember,  all  their  gifts  have  fled 
AVith  those  dissolving  years  I" 

9.  "  Why,  yes ;  for  memory  would  recall 

My  fond  paternal  joys  ; 
I  could  not  bear  to  leave  them  all: 
I  '11  take — my — girls — and — boys  I" 

10.  The  smiling  angel  dropped  his  pen — 

"Why,  this  will  never  do; 
The  man  would  be  a  boy  again. 
And  be  a  father,  too  i" 

11.  And  80  I  laughed — my  laughter  woke 

The  household  with  its  noise — 
And  wrote  my  dream,  when  morning  broke. 
To  please  the  gray-haired  boys. 

DR.  H0LHI8. 


CCLIX.— THE  SNIVELER. 

1.  One  of  the  most  melancholy  productioDS  of  a  morbid 
condition  of  life  is  the  sniveler ;  a  biped  that  infests  all 
classes  of  society,  and  prattles,  from  the  catechism  of  de- 
spair, on  all  subjects  of  human  concern.  The  spring  of  his 
mind  is  broken.  A  babyish,  nerveless  fear  has  driven  the 
sentiment  of  hope  from  his  soul.  IIo  cringes  to  every 
phantom  of  apprehension,  and  obeys  the  impulses  of  cow* 
ardicc,  as  though  they  were  the  laws  of  existence.  He  ia 
the  very  Jeremiah  of  conventionali.sm,  and  his  life  one  long 
and  lazy  lamentation.  In  connection  with  this  maudlin 
brotherhood,  his  humble  aim  in  life  is,  to  superadd  the 
snivclization  of  society  to  its  civilization.  Of  all  bores  he 
is  the  most  intolerable  and  merciless. 

2.  He  drawls  misery  to  you  through  his  nose  on  all  oo 
casions.     He  stops  you  at  the  corner  of  the  street  to  intrust 


462  BLOCUTION. 

you  with  his  opinion  on  the  probability,  that  the  last  mea- 
sure of  Congress  will  dissolve  the  Union.  He  fears,  also, 
that  the  morals  and  intelligence  of  the  people  are  destroyed 
by  the  election  of  some  rogue  to  office.  In  a  time  of  gene- 
ral health,  he  speaks  of  the  pestilence  that  is  to  be.  The 
mail  can  not  be  an  hour  late,  but  he  prattles  of  railroad 
>iccident8  and  steamboat  disasters.  He  fears  that  his  friend 
who  was  married  yesterday,  will  be  a  bankrupt  in  a  year, 
and  whimpers  over  the  trials  which  he  will  then  endure. 
As  a  citizen  and  politician,  he  has  ever  opposed  every  use- 
ful reform,  and  wailed  over  every  rotten  institution  as  it 
fell.  He  has  been,  and  is,  the  foe  of  all  progress,  and 
always  cries  over  the  memory  of  the  "  good  old  days."  In 
short,  he  is  ridden  with  an  eternal  nightmare,  emits  ao 
eternal  wail.  e.  p.  Whipple. 


CCLX.—THE  LAST  FOOTFALL. 

1.  Therb  is  of^en  sadness  in  the  tone, 
And  a  moisture  in  the  eye, 

And  a  trembling  sorrow  in  the  voice, 

When  we  bid  a  last  good-bye. 

But  sadder  far  than  this,  I  ween, 

0,  sadder  far  than  all. 

Is  the  heart-throb  with  which  wo  stram 

To  catch  the  last  footfall. 

2.  The  last  press  of  a  loving  hand 
Will  cause  a  thrill  of  pain, 

When  we  think,  "  Oh,  should  it  prove  that 

Shall  never  meet  again." 

And  as  lingeringly  the  hands  unclasp, 

The  hot,  quick  drops  will  fall ; 

But  bitterer  are  the  tears  we  shed, 

When  we  hear  the  last  footfall. 

3.  We  never  felt  how  dear  to  us 
Was  the  sound  we  loved  full  well, 
We  never  knew  how  musical, 

Till  its  last  echo  fell : 

And  till  we  heard  it  pass  away 

Far.  ftir  beyond  recall, 


463 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

We  never  thought  what  grief  't  would  be 
To  hear  the  last  footfall. 

4.  And  years  and  days  that  long  are  passed, 
And  the  scenes  that  seemed  forgot, 
Rush  through  the  mind  like  meteor-light 
As  we  linger  on  the  spot; 
And  little  things  that  were  as  nought, 
But  now  will  be  our  all, 
Come  to  us  like  an  echo  low 
Of  the  last,  the  last  footfall ! 


CCLXI.— VARIETIES. 
1. — TDE   MOUNTAINS   OP   LIFE. 

1 .  There  's  a  land  far  away,  'mid  the  stars,  we  are  told, 

Where  they  know  not  the  sorrows  of  time- 
Where  the  pure  waters  wander  though  valleys  of  gold, 

And  life  is  a  treasure  sublime; 
'T  is  the  land  of  our  God,  *t  is  the  home  of  the  soul, 
Where  the  ages  of  splendor  eternally  roll — 
Where  the  way-weary  traveler  reaches  his  goal. 

On  the  evergreen  Mountains  of  Life. 

2.  Our  gaze  can  not  soar  to  that  beautiful  land, 

But  our  visions  have  told  of  its  bliss, 
And  our  souls  by  the  gale  of  its  gardens  are  fanned. 

When  we  faint  in  the  desert  of  this  ; 
And  we  some  times  have  longed  for  its  holy  repose, 
When  our  spirits  were  torn  with  temptations  and  woes, 
And  we  've  drank  from  the  tide  of  the  river  that  flows' 

From  the  evergreen  Mountains  of  LiO). 

X.  0,  the  stars  never  tread  the  blue  heavens  at  night, 
But  wo  think  where  the  ransomed  have  trod ; 

And  the  day  never  smiles  from  his  palace  of  light. 
But  we  feel  the  bright  smile  of  our  God. 

We  are  traveling  homeward  through  changes  ana  glooni. 

To  a  kingdom  whore  pleasures  unceasingly  bloom. 

And  our  guide  is  the  glory  that  shines  through  the  tomb. 
From  the  evergreen  Mountains  of  Life. 

J.    0.    CLABK 


464  ELOCUTION. 

2. — NIGHT   AND   DEATH. 

Mtstirious  night  1  when  tho  first  man  but  knew 
Thee  by  report,  unseen,  and  heard  thy  name. 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  transluoent  dew, 
Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus,  with  ^e  host  of  heaven,  came. 

And  lo !  creation  widened  on  his  view. 
Who  could  have  thought  what  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  0  Sun  ?  or  who  could  find. 
While  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed. 

That  to  such  endless  orbs  thou  makest  us  blind  f 
Weak  man  I  why,  to  shun  death,  this  anxious  strife  7 
If  light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  life  ? 

J.    BLANCO   WHITE. 

3. — "DELIVER   us   FROM   EVIL." 

1.  "Deliver  us  from  evil,"  Heavenly  Father ! 

It  still  besets  us  wheresoe'er  we  go  I 
Bid  the  bright  rays  of  revelation  gather 

To  light  the  darkness  in  our  way  of  woe ! 
Remove  the  sin  that  stains  our  souls — forever! 

Our  doubts  dispel— our  confidence  restore! 
Write  thy  forgiveness  on  our  hearts,  and  never 

Let  us  in  vain  petition  for  it  mora 

2.  Release  us  from  the  sorrows  that  attend  us! 

Our  nerves  are  torn — at  every  vein  we  bleed ! 
Almighty  Parent !  with  thy  strength  befriend  us ! 

Else  we  are  helpless  in  our  time  of  need ! 
Sustain  us.  Lord,  with  thy  pure  Holy  Spirit — 

New  vigor  give  to  Nature's  faltering  frame ; 
And,  at  life's  close,  permit  us  to  inherit 

The  hope  that 's  promised  in  the  Savior's  name  I 

U.    p.    M0RRI& 

4. — THE    SABBATH. 

With  silent  awe  I  hail  the  sacred  mom, 
Which  slowly  wakes  while  all  the  fields  are  still; 
A  soothing  calm  on  every  breeze  is  borne, 
A  craver  murmur  gurgles  from  the  rill, 


MI8CBLLANB0U8.  4(ib 

And  echo  answers  softer  from  the  hill ; 
And  softer  sings  the  linnet  from  the  thorn — 
The  skylark  warbles  in  a  tone  less  shrill. 
Ilail,  light  serene  I     Ilail,  sacred  Sabbath  morn  I 
The  rooks  float  silent  by  in  airy  drove ; 
The  sun,  a  placid  yellow  luster  shows; 
The  gales  that  lately  sighed  along  the  grove, 
Ilavo  hushed  their  downy  wings  in  dead  repose ; 
The  hovering  rack  of  clouds  forget  to  move — 
So  smiled  the  day  when  the  first  morn  arose ! 

DR.    LCTDBN 


CCLXn.— THE  ISLE  OF  LONG  AGO. 

1.  0,  A  WONDERFUL  Stream  is  the  river  Time, 

As  it  runs  through  the  realm  of  tears. 
With  a  faultless  rhythm  and  a  musical  rhyme, 
And  a  boundless  sweep  and  a  surge  sublime, 

As  it  blends  with  the  Ocean  of  Years. 

2.  How  the  winters  are  drilling,  like  flakes  of  snow, 

And  the  summers,  like  buds  between ; 
And  the  year  in  the  sheaf — so  they  come  and  they  go, 
On  the  river's  breast,  with  its  ebb  and  flow. 

As  it  glides  in  the  shadow  and  sheen. 

3.  There  's  a  magical  isle  up  the  river  of  Time, 

Where  the  softest  of  airS  are  playing ; 
There  's  a  cloudless  sky  and  a  tropical  clime. 
And  a  song  as  sweet  as  a  vesper  chime, 

And  the  Junes  with  the  roses  are  staying. 

4.  And  the  name  of  that  Isle  is  the  Long  Ago, 

And  we  bury  our  treasures  there; 
There  are  brows  of  beauty  and  bosoms  of  snow — 
There  are  heaps  of  dust — but  we  loved  them  so  I — 

Thei    are  trinkets  and  tresses  of  hair ; 

5.  There  are  fragments  of  song  that  nobody  sings, 

And  a  part  of  an  infant's  prayer; 
There  's  a  lute  unswcpt,  and  a  harp  without  strings . 
There  are  broken  vows  and  pieces  of  rings, 

And  the  garments  timt  she  used  to  wear 


4  on  ELOC  T'' T '' ^' . 

6.  There  are  hands  that  ore  waved,  whoa  the  fairy  shore 

By  the  mirage  is  lifted  in  air; 
And  we  some  tiroes  hear,  through  the  turbulent  roar, 
Sweet  voices  we  heard  in  the  days  gone  before, 

When  the  wind  down  the  river  is  faxr, 

7.  0,  remembered  for  aye,  be  the  blessed  Isle, 

All  the  day  of  our  life  till  night — 
When  the  evening  comes  with  its  beautiful  smile, 
And  our  eyes  are  closing  to  slumber  awhile. 

May  that  *' Greenwood"  of  Soul  be  in  sight! 

&   F.  TATLOI. 


CCLXIII.— LLEWELLYN  AND  HIS  DOG. 

1.  Tns  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound,  and  cheerly  smiled 

the  morn; 
And  many  a  brach,  and  many  a  hound,  attend  Llewellyn's  horn ; 
And  still  he  blew  a  louder  blast,  and  gave  a  louder  cheer ; 
"Come,  Gelert!  why  art  thou  the  last  Llewellyn's  horn  to  hear? 
01  where  does  faithful  Gelert  roam,  the  flower  of  all  his  race? 
So  true,  so  brave, — a  lamb  at  home,  a  lion  in  the  chase!'' 
That  day  Llewellyn  little  loved  the  chase  of  hart  or  hare ; 
And  scant  and  small  the  booty  proved,  for  Gelert  was  not  there. 

2.  Unpleased  Llewellyn  homeward  hied,  when,  near  the  portal 

seat, 
His  truant  Gelert  he  espied,  bounding  his  lord  to  greet, 
But  when  he  gained  the  castle-door,  aghast  the  chieftain  stood ; 
The  hound  was  smeared  with  gouts  of  gore :  his  lips  f\nd  fangs 

ran  blood! 
Llewellyn  gazed  with  wild  surprise;  unused  such  looks  to  meet, 
Ilis  favorite  checked  his  joyful  guise,  and  crouched,    and   licke<l 

his  feet. 
Onward  in  haste,  Llewellyn  passed  (and  on  went  Gelert,  too). 
And  still,  where  e'er  his  eyes  were  cast,  fresh  blood-gouts  shocked 

his  view! 

3.  O'ertumed  his  Infant's  bed  he  found,  the  blood-stained  cover 

rent; 
And  all  around  the  walls  and  ground  with  recent  blood  besprent 
He  called  his  child  ;  no  voice  replied  ;  he  searched  with  terror  wild ; 
Blood!  blood !  he  found  on  every  side,  but  no  where  found  his  child , 


MISOBLLANBOUS.  467 

"  Death-hound  1  by  thee  my  child  's  devoured  I"  the  frantic  father 

cried ; 
And  to  the  hilt  his  vengeful  sword  he  plunged  in  Qelcrt's  side. 
His  suppliant,  as  to  earth  he  fell,  no  pity  could  impart; 
But  still  his  Gelert's  dying  yell  passed  heavy  o'er  his  heart 

4.  Aroused  by  Gelert's  dying  yell,  some  slumberer  wnkened  nigh : 
What  words  the  parent's  joy  can  toll,  to  hear  his  infant  cry  I 
Concealed  beneath  a  mangled  heap,  bis  hurried  search  had  missed. 
All  glowing  from  his  rosy  sleep,  his  cherub  boy  ho  kissed  1 

Nor  scratch  had  he,  nor  harm,  nor  dread;  but  the  same  couch 

beneath 
Lay  a  great  wolf,  all  torn  and  dead,  tremendous  still  in  death  I 
Ah  I  what  was  then  Llewellyn's  pain  I  for  now  the  truth  was  clear , 
The  gallant  hound  the  wolf  had  slain,  to  save  Llewellyn's  heir. 

5.  Yain,  vain  was  all  Llewellyn's  woe  1  "  Best  of  thy  kind,  adieu  I 
The  frantic  deed  that  laid  thee  low,  this  heart  shall  ever  rue !" 
And  now  a  noble  tomb  they  raise,  with  costly  sculpture  decked ; 
And  marbles,  storied  with  his  praise,  poor  Gelert's  bones  protect. 
Here  never  could  the  spearmen  pass,  or  forester,  unmoved; 
Here  oft  the  tear-besprinkled  grass  Llewellyn's  sorrow  proved. 
And  here  he  hung  his  horn  and  spear,  and  oft,  as  evening  fell, 
In  fancy's  piercing  sounds  would  hear  poor  Gelert's  dying  yell. 

W.    R.  SPENCKR. 


CCLXIV.— THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS. 

The  chambered  nautilus  lives  in  a  series  of  enlarging  compartment^ 
arranged  in  a  widening  spiral.  It  forsakes,  after  a  time,  one  com« 
partmcnt,  makes  a  new  one  and  dwells  there,  and  so  on  till  it  dies. 

1.  This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  Hwect  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  Uie  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  ^]^,^^,r  streaming  baic. 

2.  Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  imiwn  . 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 
And  every  chambered  cell, 


468  ELocr-^^    V 

Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sanless  crypt  unsealed! 

3.  Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  bis  lustrous  coil : 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new. 
Stole  with  soil  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door. 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more 

4.  Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  to  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea. 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  bom 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreath'^  horn  I 

While  un  mine  ear  it  rings. 
Through  tbe  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings : 

5.  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul. 

As  the  swifl  seasons  roll! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  icuiple,  nobler  than  the  last. 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast. 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free. 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea! 

DR.    BOLMKS. 


CCLXV.— THE  POWER  OF  HABIT. 

1  REMEMBER  once  lidiog  from  Buffalo  to  the  Niagara 
Falls.     I  said  to  a  gentleman,  "  What  river  is  that,  sir?" 

"  That,"  he  said,  "is  Niagara  river." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  beautiful  stream,"  said  I ;  "  bright  and  fair 
and  glassy  ;  how  far  off  are  the  rapids?" 

"  Only  a  mile  or  two,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  only  a  mile  from  us  we  shall  find  the 
water  in  the  turbulence  which  it  must  show  near  to  the 
Falls?" 

"  You  will  find  it  so,  sir."     And  so  I  found  it ;  and  the 


MISOELLANEOUB.  409 

first  sight  of  Nis-gara  I  shall  never  forget.  Now,  launch 
your  bark  on  that  Niagara  river ;  it  is  bright,  smooth,  beau- 
tiful and  glassy.  There  is  a  ripple  at  the  bowj  the  silver 
wake  you  leave  behind  adds  to  your  enjoyment.  Down  the 
stream  you  glide,  oars,  sails  and  helm  in  proper  trim,  and 
you  set  out  on  your  pleasure  excursion.  Suddenly  some 
one  cries  out  from  the  bank,  "  Young  men,  ahoy !" 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you." 

*'  Ila  I  hah  1  we  have  heard  of  the  rapids,  but  we  are  not 
such  fools  as  to  get  there.  If  we  go  too  fast,  then  we  shall 
up  with  the  helm  and  steer  to  the  shore ;  we  will  set  the 
mast  in  the  socket,  hoist  the  sail,  and  speed  to  the  land. 
Then  on,  boys ;  do  n't  be  alarmed — there  is  no  danger." 

"  Young  men,  ahoy  there  !" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you!" 

"Ha!  hah!  we  will  laugh  and  quaflf;  all  things  delight 
us.  What  care  we  for  the  future  !  No  man  ever  saw  it. 
Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  We  will  enjoy 
life  while  we  may  ;  will  catch  pleasure  as  it  flies.  This  is 
enjoyment ;  time  enough  to  steer  out  of  danger  when  we 
are  sailing  swiftly  with  the  current." 

•*  Young  tncn,  ahoy  ! " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Beware  1     Beware  1     The  rapids  are  below  you ! " 

Now  you  see  the  water  foaming  all  around.  See  how 
fast  you  pas*  that  point !  Up  with  the  helm  I  Now  turn  I 
Pull  hard !  quick  !  quick  1  quick  !  pull  for  your  lives  !  pull 
till  the  blood  starts  from  thy  nostrils,  and  the  veins  stand 
like  whip-cords  upon  thy  brow!  Set  the  mast  in  the  socket! 
Iioist  the  sail  I  ah  !  ah  I  it  is  too  late!  "Shrieking,  cursing 
buwling,  blaspheming ;  over  they  go." 

Thousands  go  over  the  rapids  every  year,  through  the 
power  of  habit,  crying  all  the  while,  "  when  I  find  out  that 
it  is  injuring  me  I  will  give  it  up!"  J.  n.  GOUOH. 


470  BLOOUTION. 

CCLXVL— E   PLURIBU8  UNUM 

1.  Toouan  many  and  bright  aro  the  stars  that  appear, 

In  that  flag  by  our  country  unfurled; 
And  the  stripes  that  aro  swelling  in  majesty  there, 

Like  a  rainboMr  adorning  the  world, 
Tiieir  lights  are  unsullied  as  those  in  the  sky, 

By  a  deed  that  our  fathers  have  done ; 
And  they  're  leagued  in  as  true  and  as  holy  a  tie, 

In  their  motto  of  *'Many  in  on 

2.  From  the  hour  when  those  patriots  fearlessly  flung 

That  banner  of  stxirlight  abroad, 
Ever  true  to  themselree,  to  that  motto  they  clung. 

As  they  clung  to  the  promise  of  Ood : 
By  the  bhyonet  traced  at  the  midnight  of  war, 

On  the  fields  where  our  glory  was  won; 
Oh  I  perish  the  heart  or  the  hand  that  would  mar 

Our  motto  of  **  Many  in  one." 

3.  Mid  the  smoke  of  the  contest — the  cannon's  deep  «uar 

How  ofl  hath  it  gathered  renown  1 
While  those  stars  were  reflected  in  rivers  of  gore, 

When  the  oroes  and  the  lion  went  down ; 
And  though  few  were  their  lights  in  the  gloom  of  tha.*  Uc\ur 

Yet  the  hearts  that  were  striking  below. 
Had  God  for  their  bulwark  and  truth  for  their  power 

And  they  stopped  not  to  number  their  foe. 

4.  From  where  our  green  mountain  tops  blend  with  the  nkj 

And  the  giant  St.  Lawrence  is  rolled, 
To  the  waves  where  the  balmy  Ilesperides  lie, 

Like  the  dream  of  some  prophet  of  old ;        • 
They  conquered — and  dying,  bequeathed  to  our  care — 

Not  this  boundless  dominion  alone — 
But  that  banner,  whose  loveliness  hallows  the  aii. 

And  their  motto  of  "Many  in  one." 

5    We  are  many  in  one,  while  there  glitters  a  star 

In  the  blue  of  the  heavens  above; 
And  tyrants  shall  quail  mid  their  dungeons  afar, 

When  they  gaze  on  that  motto  of  love. 
It  shall  gleam  o'er  the  sea,  mid  the  bolts  of  the  storm. 

Over  tempest,  and  battle,  and  wreck, 
And  flame  where  our  guns  with  their  thunder  grow  warm 

'Neath  the  blood,  on  the  slippery  deck. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  171 

6.  The  oppressed  of  the  earth  to  that  standard  shall  fly, 

Wherever  its  folds  shall  bo  spread ; 
And  the  exile  shall  feel  't  is  his  own  native  sky 

Where  its  stars  shall  float  over  his  head. 
And  those  stars  shall  increase,  till  the  fullness  of  time, 

Its  millions  of  cycles  has  run — 
Till  the  world  shall  have  welcomed  its  mission  sublime. 

And  the  nations  of  earth  shall  be  one. 

7.  Though  the  old  Alleghany  may  tower  to  heaven, 

And  the  Father  of  waters  divide, 
The  links  of  our  destiny  can  not  be  riven, 

While  the  truth  of  these  words  shall  abide. 
Ohl  then,  let  them  glow  on  each  helmet  and  brand. 

Though  our  blood  like  our  rivers  shall  run; 
Divide  as  we  may  in  our  own  native  land, 

To  the  rest  of  the  world  we  are  one. 

8.  Then,  up  with  our  flag — let  it  stream  on  the  air. 

Though  our  fathers  are  cold  in  their  graves ; 
They  had  hands  that  could  strike,  had  souls  tha*^  «?ould  dare 

And  their  sons  were  not  born  to  be  slaves. 
Up,  up  with  that  banner,  where'er  it  may  call, 

Our  millions  shall  rally  around; 
.4.  nation  of  freemen  that  moment  shall  fall 

When  its  stars  shall  be  trailed  on  the  ground. 

a.  w.  cPTTim. 


CCLXVn.— THE  UNION. 

1.  Dissolve  the  Union  1    Let  the  blush  of  shame 
Hide,  with  its  crimson  glow,  the  brazen  cheek 

Of  him  who  dares  avow  the  traitorous  aim. 
'T  is  not  the  true,  the  wise,  the  good,  who  speak 
Words  of  such  fearful  import :  't  is  the  weak» 
Drunk  with  fanaticism's  poisoned  wine. 
Who,  reckless  of  the  future,  blindly  seek 
To  hold  their  saturnalia  at  the  shrine. 
That  noble  souls  have  held,  and  still  must  hold,  divine. 

2.  Dissolve  the  Union  1  madmen,  would  you 
The  glorious  motto  from  our  country's  crest? 
Would  ye  despoil  the  stars  and  stripes  that  send 


472  ELOCUTION. 

Home,  food,  proteotioD,  to  the  world's  oppreesed  f 
Have  ye  do  reyerenoe  for  the  high  bequest, 
That  our  immortal  sires  oestowcd  ere  while  f 
Has  sin  effaced  the  image  God  impressed 
On  your  humanity,  that  you  could  smile, 
To  see  the  lurid  flames  of  freedom's  funeral  pile  T 

3.  Dissolve  the  Union  I    In  the  day  and  hour 
Ye  rend  the  blood-cemented  ties  in  twain. 
The  fearful  cloud  of  civil  war  shall  lower 

On  every  old  blue  hill  and  sunny  plain. 
From  torrid  Mexico  to  frigid  Maine  I 
Dissolve  the  Union  1    No,  ye  can  not  part. 
With  idle  words,  the  blessed  ties  that  bind, 
In  one  the  interests  of  the  mif;hty  heart. 
That  treasure  up  the  hopes  of  all  mankind. 
Awhile,  perhaps,  the  blind  may  lead  the  blind, 
From  beaten  paths  to  quagmires,  ere  they  find 
The  ray  that  shone  so  beautiful  and  bright. 
Was  but  a  phantom  lure  to  deeper,  darker  night 

4.  Dissolve  the  Union !    Never  I    Ye  may  sow 
The  peeds  of  vile  dissension  through  the  land. 
May  madly  aim  a  parricidal  blow. 

And  show  your  disregard  of  all  its  grand 
Eternal  interests;  but  a  noble  band 
Of  patriots,  tried,  and  true,  will  still  remain, 
With  heart  to  heart,  and  sinewy  band  to  hand. 
To  guard  from  foul  dishonor's  cankering  stain, 
The  jewels  God  has  shrined  in  freedom's  holy  fana 

5.  Dissolve  the  Union! — perish  first  the  page 
That  gave  to  human  sight  the  hideous  scrawl — 
Let  not  the  freemen  of  a  future  age 

Read  these  detested  words :   they  would  recall 
Shame,  madness,  imbecility,  and  all 
That  mars  the  noontide  glory  of  our  timet 
True  to  the  undivided,  stand  or  fall, 
To  waver  now  is  little  less  than  crime, 
To  battle  for  the  right  is  glorious,  is  sublime. 

MRS.    SARIS    T     BOLTOW 


MISCELLANEOUS.  473 

CCLXVm.— ESTO  PERPETUA. 

I.  EsTO  PERPETUA  I  cvcr  ODdunng, 

Still  may  the  national  glory  increase ; 
L'nion  and  harmony  ever  Becuring, 
Prosperity,  freedom,  religion,  and  peaca 

2    Great  God  of  the  nations,  thy  goodness  hath  crowned  is, 
A  land  and  a  people  peculiar  to  thee; 
Let  thy  wisdom  and  power,  still  mantled  around  us, 
Preserve  what  that  goodness  hath  taught  to  be  free  I 

3.  £sto  perpetua  1  0,  be  it  written, 

On  every  bright  link  of  the  sisterhood's  chain  I 
And  bo  the  red  arm  of  the  fratricide  smitten, 
Who  would  sully  the  compact  or  rend  it  in  twain. 

4.  Let  it  shine  on  the  folds  of  our  banner  outflowing. 

Let  it  speak  on  the  walls  of  each  parliament  hall. 
Till  the  North  and  the  South  with  its  sanctity  glowing, 
Shout,  "  Esto  perpetua ! — union  for  all." 

5.  Esto  perpetua  I     Who  would  erase  it 

From  the  mount  where  so  long  like  a  beacon  it  stood. 
Where  the  sages  of  freedom  delighted  to  place  it, 
And  martyrs  have  shaded  each  letter  with  blood? 

6.  From  Marshfield,  the  warning  in  thunder  is  breaking, 

From  Ashland,  like  music,  it  floats  on  the  air; 
From  the  grave  of  the  Hermitage  solemnly  waking 
Esto  perpetua,  guard  it  with  care! 

7.  Dissever  our  Union?    0,  how  would  the  measure 

Of  each  in  the  great  computation  be  cast, 
Her  heroes  and  sages,  her  blood  and  her  treasure ; 
Her  hopes  of  the  future,  her  deeds  of  the  past— 

H.  Her  battle  fields  fertile  with  valorous  daring — 

The  bones  of  her  martyrs  that  under  them  rest — 
Her  monument  tributes  their  memory  sharing — 
With  the  North  and  the  South,  the  East  and  the  West? 

9   The  fame  of  her  JeffersoD  proudly  defying, 

Like  his  own  Declaration  the  mildew  of  time ; 
I  Im  names  of  her  signers,  revered  and  undying, 
While  truth  holds  a  temple,  or  freedom  a  shrine ; 
Kinn. — 40 


474  ELOCUTION.      ^ 

10.  The  fume  of  her  Franklin,  whose  Rcnius  ascended 

The  htonn-demon'a  throne  when  his  thunders  were  loud. 
And  seizing  the  scepter  of  lightning,  appended 
His  name  to  the  scroll  of  each  menacing  cloud; 

11.  The  fame  of  her  Ilenry,  whose  eloquence  breaking 

The  spell  wliich  ha^l  fettered  the  nations  so  long 
Was  heard  in  the  palace,  its  tyranny  shaking, 
And  ringing  the  knell  of  oppression  and  wrong; 

12     !     >  fame  of  her  Washington,  broad  as  creation* 
The  Christian,  philosopher,  hero,  and  sage ; 
Uniting  the  models  of  every  nation. 
The  pride  and  perfection  of  every 


13  These  national  jewels,  0  cherish  their  loster, 
All  beauty  excelling,  all  value  above; 
Nor  sever  one  gem  from  the  family  cluster. 
Nor  shatter  the  casket  of  union  and  level 

OBO.    W.    fOUNQ. 


CCLXIX      LAV   OF  THE  MADMAN. 

1.  Mast  a  year  hath  passed  away, 

Many  a  dark  and  dismal  year, 
Since  last  I  roamed  in  the  light  of  day. 
Or  mingled  my  own  with  another's  tear ; 

Woe  to  the  daughters  :mil  sopjj  of  nipn — 

Woe  to  tliem  all  wl 

2.  Here  have  I  watched,  in  this  dungeon  cell, 
Longer  than  Memory's  tongue  can  tell ; 
Ilere  have  I  shrieked,  in  my  wild  despair, 

When  the  damned  fiends,  from  their  prison  came, 
Sported  and  gamboled,  and  mocked  me  hej^. 

Witli  their  eyes  of  fire,  and  their  tongue.«  o^  6ame 
Shouting  forever  and  aye  my  namel 
And  I  strove  in  vain  to  burst  my  chain. 
And  lono^jJ  to  be  free  as  the  winds  agaio, 
That  T  might  spring  in  the  wizard  ring, 
And  scatter  them  back  to  their  hellish  den ! 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men- 
Woe  to  them  all,  when  I  roam  again  I 


MISCELLANEOUS.  475 

IIow  long  have  I  been  in  this  dungeon  here. 
Littio  I  know,  and,  nothing  I  care; 

What  to  me  is  the  day,  or  night, 
Summer's  heat,  or  autumn  sere. 

Spring-tide  flowers,  or  winter's  blight, 
Pleasure's  smile,  or  sorrow's  tear? 

Timel  what  care  I  for  thy  flight, 
Joy !  I  spurn  thee  with  disdain ; 
Nothing  love  I  but  this  clanking  chain  : 
Once  I  broke  from  its  iron  hold. 
Nothing  I  said,  but  silent,  and  bold. 
Like  the  shepherd  that  watches  his  gentle  fold. 
Like  the  tiger  that  crouches  in  mountain  lair, 
Hours  upon  hours  so  watched  I  here ; 
Till  one  of  the  fiends  that  had  come  to  bring 
Herbs  from  the  valley  and  drink  from  the  spring, 
Stalked  through  ray  dungeon  entrance  in  I 
Hal  how  he  shrieked  to  see  me  free— 
Ho !  how  he  trembled,  and  knelt  to  me. 
He,  who  had  mocked  me  many  a  day, 
And  barred  me  out  from  its  cheerful  ray — 
Gods  I  how  I  shouted  to  see  him  pray ! 
I  wreathed  my  hands  in  the  demon's  hair. 
And  choked  his  breath  in  ite  muttered  prayer, 
And  danced  I  then,  in  wild  delight, 
To  see  the  trembling  wretch's  fright! 

Gods  1  how  I  crushed  his  bated  bones  I 

'Gainst  the  jagged  wall  and  the  dungeon-etonei ; 

And  plunged  my  arm  adown  his  throat. 

And  dragged  to  life  his  beating  heart, 
And  held  it  up  that  I  might  gloat. 

To  see  its  quivering  fibers  start! 
Ho  I  how  I  drank  of  tlie  purple  flood, 
Quafied^  and  quaffed  again,  of  blood, 
Till  my  brain  grew  dark,  and  I  knew  no  mora^ 
Till  I  found  myself  on  this  dungeon  floor, 
Fettered  and  held  by  this  iron  chain; 

Ho!  when  I  break  its  links  again, 

Hal  when  1  break  its  links  again. 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men  I 


476  ELOCUTION. 

CJCLXX.— LOVE,  MURDER,  AND  MATRIMONY— ALMOSl. 

1.  In  Manchester  a  maiden  dwelt* 

Her  name  waa  Phoebe  Brown, 
And  she  waa  considered  by  good  judges  to  l«  bj  all 
odda,  the  best  looking  girl  in  the  town. 

2.  Her  age  waa  nearlj  aeventeen, 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling  bright, 
A  very  loTely  girl  she  was,  and  for  a  year  and  a 
half  there  had  been  a  good-looking  young  man  paying  his  atten 
tions  to  her,  by  the  name  of  Reuben  White. 

3.  Now  Reuben  was  a  nice  young  man, 

As  any  in  the  town ; 
And  Phoebe  loved  him  very  dear. 
But  on  account  of  his  being  obliged  to  work  for  a 
living,  he  never  could  make  himself  agreeable  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brown. 

4.  Her  parents  were  resolved 

Another  she  should  wed — 
A  rich  old  miser  in  the  place; 

And  old  Brown  frequently  declared,  that  rather 
than  have  bis  daughter  marry  Reuben  White  he  M  knock  him  on 
ihs  head. 

5.  But  Phoebe's  heart  was  brave  and  strong : 

She  feared  no  parent's  frowns ; 
And  as  for  Reuben  White  so  bold, 

I  've  heard  him  say  more  than  fifty  times,  that 
with  the  exception  of  Phoebe,  he  did  n't  care  a  cent  for  the  whole 
race  of  Browns. 

6.  Now  Phoebe  Brown  and  Reuben  White 

Determined  they  would  marry ; 
Three  weeks  ago  last  Tuesday  night 

They  started  for  old  Parson  Webster'?,  with  the 
fixed  determination  to  be  united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock, 
though  it  was  tremendous  dark,  and  rained  like  the  very  Old 
Harry. 

7.  But  Captain  Brown  was  wide  awakf, 

He  loaded  up  his  gun, 
And  then  pursued  the  loving  pair— - 
And   overtook  'em  when   they  'd  got  about  half 
way  to  the  Parson's,,  when  Reuben  and  Phoebe  started  upon  a  run- 


MISCELLANEOUS.  477 

8.  Old  Brown  then  took  a  deadly  aim, 

Toward  young  Reuben's  head ; 
But,  oh  1  it  was  a  bleeding  shame, 

For  he  made  a  mistake,  and  shot  his  only  daugh- 
ler,  and  had  the  unspeakable  anguish  of  seeing  her  drop  down 
•tone  dead. 

9.  Then  anguish  filled  young  Reuben's  heart. 

And  vengeance  crazed  his  brain — 
lie  drew  an  awful  jack-knife  out. 

And  plunged  it  into  old  Brown  about  fifty  or  sixty 
tim«>8,  so  that  it  was  very  doubtful  about  his  ever  coming  to  again. 

10.  The  briny  drops  from  Reuben's  eyes 
In  torrents  poured  down  ; 
Ho  yielded  up  the  ghost  and  died— 

And  in  this  melancholy,  and  heart-rending  man- 
ner terminates  the  history  of  Reuben  and  Phoebe,  and  likewise 
of  old  Captain  Brown. 


CCLXXL— THE  MISER  AND  PLUTUS. 

1.  The  wind  is  high,  the  window  shakes, 
With  sudden  start  the  miser  wakes ! 
Along  the  silent  room  he  stalks ; 
Looks  back,  and  trembles,  as  he  walks  1 

2.  Each  lock  and  every  bolt  he  tries, 
In  every  crack  and  corner  pries; 

Then  opes  his  chest,  with  treasure  stored, 
And  stands  in  rapture  o'er  his  hoard. 

3.  But  DOW  with  sudden  qualms  possessed. 
He  wrings  his  hands,  he  beats  his  breast ; 
By  conscience  stung  he  wildly  stares. 
And  thus  his  guilty  soul  declares : 

4.  •'  Had  the  deep  earth  her  store  confined, 
This  heart  had  known  sweet  peace  of  mind ; 
But  virtue  's  sold  I    Good  heavens!  what  prio« 
Can  recompense  the  pangs  of  vice? 

5.  0  bane  of  good  I  seducing  cheat ! 

Can  man,  weak  man,  thy  power  defeat T 
Gold  banished  honor  from  the  mind, 
And  only  left  the  name  behind ; 


478  ELOcr-'     \'. 

»>.   ^^■,\>\  sowed  the  e;irth  cry  ill — 

(JmM  t;iu;;ht  the  niuri- n  ,  ^  >word  to  kill; 
'T  was  pjld  instructed  coward  hearts 
In  treachery's  more  pernicious  arts. 
Who  can  recount  the  mischiefs  o'er? 
Virtue  resides  on  earth  no  more!  o«t 


CCLXXn,— RECOLLECTIONS. 

i .  Do  Ton  remember  all  the  sanny  places. 

Where  in  bright  days  long  past,  we  played  together? 

Do  you  remember  all  the  old  home  faces. 

That  gath^^  round  the  hearth  in  wintry  weather? 

Do  you  remember  all  the  happy  meetings, 

In  summer  evenings,  round  the  open  door — 

Kind  looks,  kind  hearts,  kind  words,  and  tender  greetings, 

And  clasping  hands,  whose  pulses  beat  no  more? 

Do  you  remember  them? 

2.  Do  you  remember  when  we  first  departed 

From  'mid  the  old  companions  who  were  round  us, 

How  very  soon  again  we  grew  light-hearted. 

And  talked  with  smiles  of  all  the  links  that  bound  as? 

And  after,  when  our  footsteps  were  returning. 

With  unfelt  weariness,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

How  our  young  hearts  kept  boiling  up  and  burning. 

To  think  how  soon  we  'd  be  at  home  again  7 

Do  you  remember  this? 

3.  Do  you  remember  how  the  dreams  of  glory 
Kept  fading  from  us  like  a  fairy  treasure ; 
How  thoughtless  we  of  being  famed  in  story, 

And  more  of  those  to  whom  our  fame  gave  pleasure? 
Do  you  remember  in  far  countries,  weeping 
When  a  light  breeze,  a  flower,  hath  brought  to  mind 
Old  happy  thoughts,  which  till  that  hour  were  sleeping, 
And  made  us  yearn  for  those  we  left  behind? 

Do  you  remember  this? 

i.  Do  you  remember  when  no  sound  woke  gladly. 
But  desolate  echoes  through  our  home  were  ringing. 
How  for  a  while  we  talked — then  paused  full  sadly. 
Because  our  voices  bitter  things  were  bringing? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  479 

Ah  me !  those  days — those  days !  my  friend,  my  brother, 
Sit  down  and  let  us  talk  of  all  our  woe, 
For  we  have  nothing  left  but  one  another ; — 
Yet  where  they  went,  old  playmate,  wo  shall  go ; 

Let  us  remember  this. 

MRS.    NORTOV 


CCLXXni.— LITTLE  BY  LITTLE. 

I.  "Little  by  little/'  an  acorn  said, 
As  it  slowly  sank  in  its  mossy  bed ; 
"  I  am  improving  every  day, 
Hidden  deep  in  the  earth  away." 
Little  by  little  each  day  it  grew ; 
Little  by  little  it  sipped  the  dew; 
Downward  it  sent  out  a  thread-like  root ; 
Up  in  the  air  sprung  a  tiny  shoot. 
Day  after  day,  and  year  after  year. 
Little  by  little,  the  leaves  appear ; 
And  the  slender  branches  spread  far  and  wide. 
Till  the  mighty  oak  is  the  forest's  pride. 

2.  Far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  blue  sea, 
An  insect  train  work  ceaselessly; 
Grain  by  grain  they  are  building  well, 
Each  one  alone  in  its  little  cell. 
Moment  by  moment  and  day  by  day. 
Never  stopping  to  rest  or  to  play. 
Rocks  upon  rocks  they  are  rearing  high, 
Till  the  top  looks  out  on  the  sunny  sky; 
The  gentle  wind  and  the  balmy  air, 
Little  by  little,  bring  verdure  there ; 
Till  the  summer  sunbeams  gayly  smile 
On  the  buds  and  flowers  of  the  coral  islfli 

S.  «•  LitUo  by  litUe,"  said  a  thoughtful  boy, 
•'  Moment  by  moment,  I  '11  well  employ, 
Learning  a  little  every  day. 
And  not  spending  all  my  time  in  play. 
And  still  this  rule  in  my  mind  shall  dwell, 
•Whatever  I  do.  I  will  do  it  well.' 
Little  by  little,  I  'W  learn  to  know 
The  treasured  ^'sdom  of  long  ago ; 


480  ELOCUTION. 

And  one  of  these  days  perhaps  we  '11  see 
That  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  me." 
And  do  not  yon  think  that  this  simple  plan 
^T'*')''  Iitm  a  wise  and  a  useful  man? 


CCLXXIV.— I  'M   '  AGAIN. 

1  I  'm  with  you  once  agun,  my  friends, 

No  more  my  footsteps  roam ; 
Where  it  began  my  journey  ends. 

Amid  the  scenes  of  home. 
Vo  other  clime  has  skies  so  bine. 

Or  streams  so  broad  and  clear. 
And  where  are  hearts  so  warm  and  true 

As  those  that  meet  me  here  T 

2  Sill"''  l:i-'.  vnd  free, 

I  pressed  my  luiiive  siraiui, 
T  've  wandered  many  mile^  at  sea. 

And  many  miles  on  land: 
I  *Te  seen  fair  r^ona  of  the  earth 

With  rude  commotion  torn. 
Which  taught  me  how  to  prize  the  worth 

Of  that  where  I  was  bom. 

3.  In  other  countries  when  I  heard 

The  language  of  my  own, 
IIow  fondly  each  familiar  word 

Awoke  an  answering  tone! 
But  when  our  woodland  songs  were  sung 
foreign  mart. 

that  faltero'l  on  the  tongue 
With  rapture  thrillol  mv  heart! 

4.  My  native  land  !  I  turn 

With  blexinrr  :in,l  w!' 

Where  mn  true, 

LonL"  flag  in  triumph  wave, 

Agrtin.'^t  tne  world  combined, 
And  friends  a  welcome — foes  a  grave, 

Within  our  borders  find.  o.  p.  morrh 


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